


party girls don't get hurt

by beansprout



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, stripper and sugar daddy, true love tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansprout/pseuds/beansprout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never occurred to Ezio that, at the ripe old age of 43, he might be pranked. When Federico had mentioned that someone they knew was throwing a party, Ezio had been so tired of being heartsick and so grateful to go that he hadn’t bothered to find out the specifics. Only once he was here, he found out the acquaintance was no one other than Vieri de Pazzi, his “nemesis” since only, oh, maybe kindergarten. And like the classy bastard that he was, Vieri had brought strippers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been out of the fandom for a while, but then I spent the entire weekend reading old RP logs. *dramatic movie trailer voice* RP partners come and go, and I am forever left with the thirst. I say, no more! I will take my fate into my own hands! write fics to cater to my own taste, myself, no matter if it's disgustingly cliché. I LIKE CLICHÉ.  
> Knowing my short attention span, I'll try to make myself crank out a new 'chapter' everyday, although they'll be quite short, and of course, unproofed. I'll edit once I finish.  
> I hope at least someone out there enjoy them too.

It never occurred to Ezio that, at the ripe old age of 43, he might be pranked.

He’d been had in such a fundamental way that he couldn’t even think of bitching at Federico, lest his brother start to thump him on the back, fall over laughing, and then, inevitably, call him pathetic. 

Because that was what he was. 

Ezio sighed, looking for a place to ferret into and hide away. He liked parties, he did, and this one started out as a good one, too. It was just the right amount of glamorous; the people were just the right mix of business and casual. And – he couldn’t help but notice – the women were very pretty. He liked how confident they were, how unashamed they were of themselves. They flaunted their personality in every way possible: the length and color of their hair, the discreet or audacious cut of their dresses, the quirky or classy touch of jewelry. They smiled and shone with all their lights, and Ezio would usually have been delighted at how happy these women were about themselves, if not for the miserable mood he was in.

Italy had been crawling with relatives and acquaintances. He literally couldn’t go to a single city without finding some relative to visit or some friends of friends who insisted to go out for a drink. Now, at the drop of a hat, Ezio found himself in New York with not a familiar face to look upon. His father had referred to the move as an adventure, a reward for his twenty something years of faithful work in the family bank, but Ezio, for some reasons, felt like it was an exile.

He had been welcomed well enough. Accepting the CFO position of a prestigious corporation, he had someone else take care of every little thing. He was passed from friendly drivers to helpful real estate agents and smiling secretaries, everyone eager to help get him settled in and start his new life. It didn’t change the fact that, at the end of the day, he found himself alone in his penthouse apartment with nothing to do beside work, and nobody to do it with.

When Federico had mentioned, via email, that someone they knew was throwing a party, Ezio had been so tired of being heartsick and so grateful to go that he hadn’t bothered to find out the specifics. Only once he was here, he found out the acquaintance was no one other than Vieri de Pazzi, his “nemesis” since only, oh, maybe kindergarten?? They had bumped into each other way too often, resulting into too many injuries, and now, by some jokes of the gods, they found themselves in the same city again, and Ezio had gone to one of Vieri’s parties. 

Vieri wasn’t there yet, but just the sound of his name popping up here and there in the conversations was enough to drive Ezio’s mood right into the ground. He was still working towards his retreat, smiling and excusing his way towards the door, when obnoxious slurring and laughter announced the arrival of the not-awaited soul of the party. Vieri arrived and promptly undid all the work of the poor girl who was in charge of putting together the event. From a tasteful, agreeable cocktail party, the situation went downhill when Vieri’s drunken band of fools stormed all over the place, causing more damages than a tornado. Drinks and food were spilled, smoke stunk up the place, girls were groped and startled… And that was not all. Ezio rubbed his face as the string of people in colorful, albeit scanty clothing, sauntered in the place, pushing past the PR girl who looked like she was about to cry. Vieri had brought strippers. 

It was so bad Ezio could be burning with second-hand embarrassment. But he was also amused, counting the second until Vieri made an utter fool of himself. Granted, it was probably the story of Vieri’s life and nobody would be surprised, but it was like a trainwreck, he couldn’t possibly look away. 

So for the rest of the party Ezio slunk around in the shadows, dodging Vieri and his friends, making use of the free alcohol. When the noise got too much, he started to back into one of the retreats in the walls – ones of these places with a marble table and a vase of flower and a light shining tastefully over it – planning to hide himself until he felt like smiling again. 

Instead, he bumped into something way too soft to be a table, trod over something that felt like toes, and was shoved out of the hidey hole to nearly land flat on his face.

“Watch it!” A voice hissed, and Ezio turned around to apologize except the sight he caught was so strange he had to gape for a second.

As Ezio had thought, there was someone already in the hidey hole. Ezio had not seen him. He had no idea why – the stranger was wearing the strangest assortment of clothes, especially for a party like this one. His pants were loose and, dare Ezio say, rather quite sheer, gathered at the ankles. The man wore no shoes, and Ezio wince to realize that his fine Italian shoes had left a bloody mark on the bare toes. Over that strange outfit – what Ezio could see of it, anyway – the man wore a white hoodie, with the hood pulled over his head. When the man looked up to scowl, Ezio caught sight of amber-colored eyes and a smooth, dark skin. Not just tanned, like his Ezio’s. Bronze.

“You’re a stripper,” Ezio blurted out, thirty plus years of fine grooming to be a gentleman in all circumstances flying out by some hatch door at the back of his head, as he stood before that man who seemed to glow a golden light. All his wit and charm escaped to leave him a blundering, loud-mouthed idiot like he had been since age seventeen. He forgot even the fact that he should, first, apologize, and second, check if he hadn’t spilled his drink all over himself. All his thoughts right now focused on other facts: this man was hiding out, he didn’t belong here, he could only be one of the “entertainers” Vieri had brought in, and the word to call these ridiculous pants the man was wearing was “harem pants”.

Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to Ezio’s astonishment. Though he did get bumped into, because he was standing in the middle of the hall, like an idiot. Hurriedly, he ducked back behind the pillar, making sure that the floor where he stepped was free of bare toes. The panic passed. Nobody had even looked at him twice. Reassured that his cover had not been blown, he looked back to the man, opening his mouth to apologize, only to be greeted with desert coldness.

Great, he thought ruefully to himself. The only person he’d care to get to know since he got to New York, and he’d managed to irreversibly offend him.


	2. Chapter 2

Having worked “petty” jobs for most of his life, Altair had decided that there was nothing he hated more than people who couldn’t follow simple instructions.

“Please get a ticket, sir” did not mean to cut in line and wander straight to the front to ask when it would be your turn. “Here’s your receipt, your barista will deliver your drink at the counter” did not mean to stand there at the cash register gawking like an idiot and letting nobody else walk past. “Please wrap up your shopping, we’ll close in ten minutes” didn’t mean you start to take your kids in the candy aisle and let them pull everything off the shelves and start a screaming match while you text a novel on your phone. 

And the winner: “Don’t sign me up for parties, I don’t do well with crowds” definitely did not mean to go ahead and do it!

Altair had just gotten to the club and started to get into his costume when the manager, Ron, pulled him aside to “explain the situation”. There was some bullshit about the other guys having the days off for personal stuffs that Altair was sure he had pulled right out of his ass. And then he was trying to coax Altair to the party, promising him the tips (which should be his anyway), then promising him ten dollars (ten!) bonus, then just plain threatening to give his shift over to someone else if he wouldn’t come. 

Again, as with most petty jobs in his life that he hated but desperately needed, Altair allowed himself to be bullied into doing something he had absolutely no desire to. He was seething by the time they all piled into the Ford Transit, with coats and jackets pulled hastily over their costumes. Ron had managed to round together three guys, five girls, Altair didn’t know how, since they worked very different hours for different clienteles. Half of them were really excited for tips; the other half was about as sullen as Altair, since catering to a party meant that they would be going home way later than their shifts. To distract themselves, they’ve started touching up their make ups and checking on their costumes. Altair, too annoyed too, just sat at his prized shotgun seat and stared out the window. 

“You don’t seem too thrilled,” the bouncer, who was driving the van, said. He was six foot four, had an undercut, huge muscles, killer cheekbones, and the perfect barrel chest to emit the low rumbling growl that intimidated humans and animals alike. Most of the girls called him Bear, since he talked so little they didn’t even know his name. Altair, though, had managed to coax enough conversation from him to know that he was called Connor. He also knew that Connor was twenty six, basically a baby, and was only working this job to pay for vet school. Soon enough, he would be petting puppies for a living. Even when he hated the world, Altair couldn’t think of a single reason to hate Connor.

“I don’t like parties,” Altair said, for the untempt time that evening already. “I’d rather have the distance of the stage. People get way too handsy when you walk around them.”

“I’ll be there though,” Connor reminded evenly. His manners were calm, matter-of-fact, instead of earnest, but somehow that reassured Altair more. Even the way he drove was adorable. Like he was fresh out of driving school. Altair wanted to pet his hair, and also his abs. He fully believed that Connor had eight packs. That Connor was shredded. He believed in Connor, and in fact, the reminder that the bouncer would be there cheered him up a little. “I heard Ron say it was a company party. They should be well-behaved.”

“Sometimes those are the worst,” Altair muttered. “What kind of company?”

Connor paused a bit. “… Stockbrokers, I think.”

“I hate it already.”

And he was absolutely right. These Wall Street guys, especially the young ones, were the scum of the earth, and Altair loathed them. He thought the guy who hired them, in the five minutes since he’d arrived at the party, had managed to pinch a dozen butts. None of the girls had looked amused. There was no way Altair was taking his clothes off in the middle of these hyenas. He didn’t care who tattled. The moment he got in, he picked up his shoes and snuck quietly to a hiding place he had scoped out for himself. He was determined to stay there until the end of the world was over.

Even then, he could not be left alone. 

Under normal circumstances, he would have found the man quite easy on the eyes. Altair had always had a thing for older gentlemen (he was of course willing to make an exception for Connor, if only the younger man was interested). The businessman’s broad build was accented by his smart suit. His beard was scruffy, and his hair was long, tied in a ponytail that was just careless enough to be on the right side of proper. The overall effect was flattering; Altair found in front of him quite a handsome man. Charming. But for the moment, the man had just trodden on his bare feet, and the way he was gawking and blurting out at Altair didn’t seem very intelligent. When the man looked over and opened his mouth to speak, Altair gave him another hiss. 

The man in the suit seemed to take the hint then, and shut up.

Still hidden in the shadow of the alcove, they waited for the party to blow itself out. Altair could feel eyes on him, but he was determined not to give the man any attention. If he’d ceded for even an inch, the man in the suit would probably just take it as a green light to advance a mile. Altair knew his types. He despised businessmen. 

At some point, the man left the alcove. Altair was surprised; he hadn’t even heard him go. It couldn’t have been easy to be so quiet, especially with those shiny, stiff leather shoes of his. Oh, well. Altair was just starting to think, Good riddance, and then the man was back. He was holding out a glass of water. 

“I’m sorry, you know,” he said quickly when their eyes met. It seemed just with that, the man had said his piece, because then he just ducked his head and slipped back into the hiding place where the party guests wouldn’t look for them. Altair ignored the glass of water. If the sleaze thought that was enough to get his attention, he was mistaken. Though Altair was impressed that he had not tried to offer alcohol. 

Altair watched the guests walked by, letting his mind go blank. After a couple years working catering, he had gotten pretty good at that. The ambiance had turned from classy to bawdy, and a great deal of the guests had left. Only remained, of course, the worst kind.

“Hey, there’s the last one!”

The drawl made Altair look him. He didn’t know when, but the guy who had hired them, Pazzi something, had planted himself right in front of him. Altair furrowed his brows, and threw a quick glance around to look for Connor. No sight of him. The kid was probably guarding the girls somewhere. The venue was too big. Ron shouldn’t have been such a cheapstake and sent just one bouncer. Maybe the manager had not counted on the audience being quite so rowdy, but even then, it was just unprofessional.

Next to Altair, his hiding-place neighbor tensed. 

Pazzi was not alone. He was with two other guys, and each of them had one of the male strippers in their arms. Alejo was bright red and still trying to untangle himself, but Nicky seemed quite resigned and only gave Altair an apologetic smile as his ‘patron’ dragged him closer to join the fun.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Pazzi shouted. Altair had no idea why – their faces were only several inches apart. Idiot probably needed things to be extra loud to get through the thickness of his head. “Aren’t you a stripper? Why are you still dressed?”

Altair said nothing. He glanced around, discretely, for a way out. 

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, I am,” Altair gritted out, tapping into the patience reserve he usually saved for five years olds throwing a tantrum at the supermarket. “I’m not sure what you’re asking for. If you want a dance, I don’t think it’s possible. I’ve seen how you treat the other dancers already.” He eyed the guy who had Alejo in a grip that was nearly a chokehold even as the kid tried to wiggle away. He felt like he knew exactly what kind of ‘entertainment’ these guys were looking for when they called up male strippers. “You’re not to touch us, sir. There’s a written rule for that.” He bared his teeth, and since these men only responded to money, added, “There’s a hefty fee for that.”

“Did you hear what he said?” Pazzi barked out an incredulous laugh, looking to his friends. They were quick to join in with their own hyena-like laughter. “This little sissy ass is trying to get all tough on us. Now listen here, mister.” Pazzi’s hand had found a handful of Altair’s hoodie, yanking him forward. “You came here dressed like a whore. Get off your high horse and act like what you are, a good little whore. Then maybe we can give you the dicking you’ve been craving for, and you can even have scraps from the table, huh?” 

Altair closed his eyes for a second, breathing in deeply. Even calming himself was difficult with these gritty hands on him. And he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling the humiliation either. Here he was, in his cheap, ridiculous costume, in the middle of all these people in shiny cocktail dresses and smart suits. A good number of them were staring, most likely just waiting for the opportune moment to join in the laughter. Laughing at him. 

Damn it. At the rate they were drawing an audience, how long until this caught Connor’s attention? Connor, where are you? Altair thought. I no longer have faith in you, though I still believe that you have eight packs and are shredded. 

“Hey, Vieri,” came a voice somewhere from his left, and Vieri shut up. Only then did Altair realize Pazzi had still been harping on, probably spewing humiliation after humiliation. It seemed to come easy to him. Some people have that kind of talent. Compared to Pazzi’s voice, the man’s was quiet and clear. Even if his English was heavy with a ridiculous accent. “My god, I’ve forgotten how much of an asshole you are. How did you live with yourself?”

Pazzi’s grip relaxed a little as he looked up, probably trying to focus his vision enough to see who was addressing him. The man with the pony tail was facing Pazzi now, drawn to his full height. He smiled.

Altair decided right there and then that he would like to eat this man up. Whole. No spoon required.

He looked back just in time to see Pazzi’s mouth open in a grimace of recognition, and the gentleman said, “Remember me?” and somehow, Altair couldn’t even guess, the content of his glass then found his way to Pazzi’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you see, I am very hip with the current memes.  
> I just want Altair to have the most ridiculous crush on Connor. Because who wouldn't.


	3. Chapter 3

It was three in the morning. He hadn’t turned on any light in the apartment, but what little filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling glass panes was enough to make his black eye throb. His clumsy attempt at bandaging hadn’t stopped his split knuckles from bleeding, blood running down his hand to drip on the carpet. Each time he moved, his joints popped and creaked. His skin felt tight at places, tender with bruises.

But on a whole, Ezio was feeling fucking fantastic. 

He was glad that Vieri had recognized him. If the idiot had been too drunk to, Ezio might have had to throw the first punch for him. As it happened, Vieri didn’t need any more encouragement to come at Ezio, swinging. Ezio saw the punch coming, too, but made no attempt to evade, or to block it. 

He let it connect. 

To say that he saw stars would be an understatement. It was more like a tiny nuclear reaction had set off against his eyeball. And before you say that was overdramatic, please bear in mind that Ezio had not had to resort to fisticuff for quite a big portion of his life. Granted, a lot of people wanted to punch their bankers, but not many of them dared to take that risk.

In the few seconds it took before his vision cleared, Ezio was actually worried he’d made a mistake. He was terrified for a compact second that he’d misjudged his body’s resilience now, and had let Vieri damage it beyond repair. He needed that eye, dammit! 

But the panic was quick to pass, swept away by a tide of adrenaline. His body proved that it was not failing him. Not yet. At first, he simply felt warm. And then it felt like fire was spreading in his veins. Blood sang and roared in his ears. His fingers jumped and flexed, before he curled his hands into fists. His eyes had never seen more clearly.

Oh, his body remembered how to fight. 

It was a good thing that at the moment, it hadn’t also remembered what it felt like in the aftermath. Ezio might have held back if that was the case. But he had not remembered, and had gone all out with all the recklessness of a youth who had nothing to fear, and now he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret how the evening had turned out.

Groaning, Ezio pushed himself to his feet and padded over to the fridge for some ice. His suit jacket was about ruined, so he set about emptying the pockets to have it taken to the cleaner’s. A fountain pen was tossed on the counter, along with some loose change. His watch followed – thank god he had remembered to take it off before the blood could run into the many joints and grooves and dry up there. His phone’s screen was all cracked up and remained dark, which suited him just fine. He was in no mood to be yelled at, be it via calls, or texts, or emails. And he was sure that was what would happen first thing in the morning tomorrow.

Ezio pulled out his checkbook last. It was missing but one page, but his account was lighter by five grands. Five grands in broken crystals, fine china, and spilled crayfish, in exchange for the brawl of his life. If fighting sleazy Wall Street stockbrokers was always this therapeutic, then Ezio had more than five grands to spare.

He was sure he got everything, but his fingertips had not yet met the lining of his pocket. Instead, he found something rough and crumbled. A paper napkin. Huh, Ezio thought. He might have swiped a couple to help with the blood, but he frankly couldn’t remember it, with the whirlwind of events happening at the evening’s end. 

The napkin was neatly folded into four, and he opened it with stiff fingers, to find a name and a number scrawled.

Huh, Ezio thought again. Memories returned to him then, and he broke into a grin. Yeah. This is more like it. 

°

Altair was surprised to find out that Connor cleaned cuts and applied bandages like a pro. He didn’t think Connor would need any of these skills – it didn’t seem like anyone could hurt him, even if he was holding quite the risky job. 

But then Altair remembered that the kid was in vet school. He was being treated with the same loving care that Connor usually reserved for dogs and cats. He had no idea if that should make him feel better.

“You made a mess,” Connor chided as he dabbed at the cut on Altair’s cheek. It wasn’t deep, but it stung like hell, not to mention all the blood. Altair had received a dozen cuts like that all over his body, when he’d slipped on the floor and fallen on the broken crystal. He could only count himself lucky that none of the shards had remained stuck in his flesh – at least, not as far as he could tell. 

“It’s not my fault,” Altair replied, wriggling his toes and inhaling deeply as the sting subsided. “Couldn’t help it if my bouncer wasn’t around to keep an eye on me.”

It was the third time this evening that he pulled on that guilt trip, but Connor was still crestfallen. “The girls were starting to strip,” he explained patiently, sticking a band-aid onto Altair’s face. “I couldn’t have left them.”

“How could I ever forgive you,” Altair tossed out airily as he pushed himself to his feet, taking a few tentative steps. Nothing seemed to be permanently damaged. He was lucky that he wasn’t in the middle of the fight. The man in the pony tail had taken the brunt of it, giving Altair an opening to get Alejo and Nicky out of the fray. The extent of his intelligent reaction ended there: instead of going to look for Connor, he’d returned to see Pazzi’s friends beating the man into the ground, and Altair had had to help. 

“I could give you a ride?” Connor suggested. Altair had to admit that his bribery was short and to the point. At buttfuck o’ clock, it was uncertain that he would manage to catch a bus. Not without getting mugged first. 

The look on Altair’s face must have answered for him, because Connor closed the first aid kit and started to get up. But then, the phone in Altair’s pocket picked that moment to buzz. “Fuck, give me a minute.” 

The number was unknown, but Altair had been expecting the call. And he felt like a sappy teenager to even think this, but he could feel who was calling. Even the mere thought of him brought a smile to his face. Biting on his lower lip and grinning around it, ignoring Connor’s pointed look, Altair picked up.

“Is this Altair?” If there was any doubt about the caller, it was dispelled by the accent on the other end of the line. It was so ridiculous that Altair felt like he could forgive the man for butchering his name, since he was butchering the English language anyway. 

Still grinning, though trying to bite back on it a little so Connor wouldn’t think he had gone insane, he played coy and acquiesced with a non-committal grunt. “Yeah, who is this?”

The man cleared his throat. “It’s Ezio,we, ah… met at the party.” He paused, then cleared his throat again, making a ridiculous ‘ahem’ noise that real people wouldn’t make in real life. “It is you, right? We did meet?”

His voice was so nervous that Altair took pity on him. “You got a lot of numbers from that party? Yeah, it’s me.” He didn’t give the man the time to be relieved. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I…“ The pause indicated that Ezio actually didn’t know what he wanted. Not yet. “Just… make sure you didn’t get in trouble. You didn’t, did you?”

“Nah,” Altair shook his head. He picked up his bag and started to follow Connor to the parking lot. “Got yelled at by the manager, but apparently someone paid for all the damages, so there’s nothing to take out of my pay. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?” Not waiting for an answer, he asked. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about yourself? You were the one who punched the asshole. Aren’t pompous rich people very fond of trials?”

“Oh, suing me would mean having to admit that I did punch him in the face,” Ezio laughed then, and Altair couldn’t quite decide how he liked the man better, all shy and flustered, or confident and cocky. “I’ve been fighting Vieri all my damn life, I know him. He wouldn’t sue. Anyway, I’m glad you’re not in trouble. Did you get hurt?”

“Nothing bad, just a few scrapes. I’ve had worse. I got the kids out of it unscathed, too.” He hesitated, before admitting, “If it hadn’t been for you, we’d be much worse off.”

Even knowing that, it was hard for him to make himself thank Ezio, but the other man didn’t push. He seemed content just to hold the line, breathing evenly as he thought of something else to say. Finally, he spoke, “I can’t go to work tomorrow looking like this. I might as well take a day off. Can I bring you breakfast?”

That was… surprisingly smooth, though Altair was disappointed it wasn’t a lousy pick-up line. He just felt that Ezio’s accent was made solely to deliver bad pick-up lines. “Sure,” he said, switching the phone from hand to hand to pull on the seatbelt. “I’ll text you the address.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit choppy, because I've been so tired. My work days have been long and hectic.  
> Thank you for the kudos, and I've got a first comment. Thank you for making me feel not so alone anymore!


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re mooning.”

“So not.”

“Are too,” Malik snickered. “Come on. You finally found someone who let you be the brat you are.” He paused, his pencil going tap tap against the piece of paper. “… Actually, I’m worried for him. Are you sure the fight hadn’t let him brain-damaged? Watch out for yourself, too. I suppose it’s all fun and game now, but later, if he turns out to be a vegetable, you wouldn’t like it all that much.”

“That’s mean. Why are you such an asshole?”

Even as he said that, he was grinning. Straightening up from where he was stacking reams of paper near the printer for Malik, he leaned against the accountant’s desk, peering down at him. Malik met his eyes, his expression stoning. They held each other’s gaze for a few minutes. Suddenly, Altair leaned in, a hand shooting out as he attempted to type gibberish on Malik’s keyboard and press enter as many times as possible. As usual, his goal remained woefully unmet. Altair didn’t know what his tell was, but the moment he moved, Malik’s hand would shoot out like a snake to whack him on the arm with the long wooden ruler that he kept at the side of the table. 

Scowling, Altair jerked his hand back, cradling it in his good one with a wounded expression. Malik ignored his pout entirely. “That’ll do you more harm than me,” he said serenely, putting the ruler back in its place. “I’m doing your paycheck. So, what would a rich Italian banker bring you for breakfast?”

Altair couldn’t help a grin at that. “Bagels.”

That morning, Altair didn’t even remember having a (and he used this term loosely) date. After Connor had dropped him off at his apartment, he only had time to shed his clothing and kick off his shoes before clambering into bed. His body was throbbing, though he wasn’t quite so irritated anymore. To say that he blacked out wouldn’t be an overstatement. 

It seemed like he’d barely slept a wink when he had to wake up already, the doorbell buzzing angrily overhead.

Altair waited, hoping whoever it was would give up and leave. No such luck. The doorbell buzzed and buzzed again, like the angry nagging of the world’s most annoying manager. Growling loudly, he tumbled out of bed and pulled on his clothes from yesterday, still lying crumpled on the floor next to the bed. Crossing the apartment was no big feat since it was so small, only dangerous because he risked tripping on the mess he’d made. But he finally managed to yank the door open and growled at the person standing outside, “Yes?”

An awkward silence followed. Altair was about to growl at the person again, until he managed to open his eyes enough for the image to filter through. The man stood in front of him in a red dress shirt, untucked, and pair of jeans that hugged his form in a way that was barely decent. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, baring a black eye and scraggly stubbles that made him look about as tired as Altair felt. A paper bag was cradled against his chest as protection against Altair’s hostility. 

Altair had the barest sense that he should’ve known the man, except at the time his brain was still slugging its way through mush. He continued to squint in the morning light until the man’s desperation finally overcame his awkwardness. 

“Hi. Altair, isn’t it?” he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes you did,” Altair replied flatly. “What do you want?”

The man visibly cringed. “It’s Ezio,” he said, clearing his throat. “You said I could bring breakfast… ?”

They stared at one another until the memory crashed back. “Oh, you!” Altair exclaimed, his body relaxing from his position where it was barring the door. “I completely forgot.” 

Now that he’d recognized Ezio, his brain decided to wake up all at once. He was suddenly aware of how trashed he must looked: crumpled and disheveled from bed, nicks and cuts all over his body, the band-aids put on by Connor having fallen off during the night as he tossed and turned. He was still in his clothes from last night, which smelled vaguely sweaty and alcoholic. To make himself feel worse, he caught a whiff of cologne from Ezio’s body. The man didn’t look his best, sure, but at least he’d made an effort. 

“I can see that,” the older man chuckled. His eyes skidded over Altair’s body – Altair could tell that he was trying not to stare. “Obviously it’s not a good time. Perfectly understandable, you’ve had a rough night. If you want, I’ll let you get some more rest—“

“No, it’s fine!” Altair said, wincing at how loud his voice sounded, and slightly off-key from sleep. He took a step back, holding the door open for Ezio. “Come on in. You’ll just have to excuse me for a minute… I’ll get cleaned up.”

After leading Ezio into his kitchen and parking him at the kitchen table, he hurried to the bathroom for a quick rinse. The warm water woke him up the rest of the way, enough to throw on some decent, fresh clothing. As he made his way to the kitchen, he was constantly ducking down to pick up frozen dinners wrappers, dirty socks, and dirty underwear, even. By the time he’d got most of the litter off the floor, Altair was feeling a bit warm with embarrassment at how messy his apartment was.

“It’s usually not a pigsty,” he grumbled as he sat down on the chair across from Ezio. Besides from his bed, this was the only place in his apartment that they could sit. “You caught me off guard.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Like the perfect gentleman he was, Ezio didn’t even point out that he had announced his visit with a reasonable notice. He just went and found clean plates to arrange the bagels from the paper bag. The bread had the artfully rough texture of homemade goods and Altair was pretty sure they were too expensive to eat with his dollar store peanut butter. There were also paper cups of coffee on the table, which Altair wrinkled his nose at and pushed back to Ezio’s side of the table. The man cocked an eyebrow, “You don’t want any?”

“No, coffee makes me way too hyper,” Altair admitted, seizing the closest bagel and biting into it. The taste and texture gave him pause. “Damn. Is this how bagels are supposed to taste?”

“Just the very fancy ones,” Ezio laughed, opening the lid of his coffee cup and taking a long sip. He seemed a little less intimidated now that he knew Altair also communicated in speech and not just growls and hisses. “Thanks for pulling Francesco off of me last night. Was that when you got hurt?”

Altair shrugged. “Was Francesco the one with the beard? Then yeah. I crashed into some champagne flutes. Kind of stupid, if you think about it.” He looked down at the scratches peppering his skin. “This is nothing compared to the entertainment I got. It does mean I can’t strip for a couple days, though.”

Ezio choked on his bagel then, and Altair raised an eyebrow. Watching him trying to pass it off as nothing was exasperating. “Out with it,” he ordered, to which Ezio squirmed, kind of bashful. 

“So… you’re really a stripper?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well, it was just that… Last night, you didn’t seem very happy.” Ezio scratched his cheek. His punching hand was wrapped in a thick layer of gauze and the end was trailing. Altair tutted and reached out, gesturing insistently until Ezio took the clue and offered his hand so Altair could redo the bandage. “Do you like it?”

Altair had to think about it. Did he like it? “Not any more that working at McDonald’s or scrubbing toilets, I guess.” When the bandage was done up tight, he hesitated for a moment before deciding to brush his lips against it. Ezio let out a sigh, as if the simple gesture had leeched all the ache from his bones. “It’s just something you do. I suppose I can even enjoy it at times. When the clients keep their hands to themselves.”

“And there is someone to make sure of that?” Ezio asked. Altair knew then that the man had stuck around long enough to see Connor. “What if they aren’t fast enough?”

“I know how to take care of myself,” Altair said flatly, letting go of Ezio’s hand to pick up his bagel and continued to devour it. “I don’t need rich Italian bankers to rescue me every time I run into an asshole.”

“Of course,” Ezio chuckled. Altair wondered briefly what it’d take to make him grin the way he had done last night. Must a fight always be involved, or other… activities could be substituted? “I just… It’s all very strange. I’ve seen strippers, sure. But I’ve never met a stripper in real life, as a person, before.”

“Doesn’t mean you’ll get perks,” Altair waggled a finger in Ezio’s face. Then he decided to take their conversation up a notch, testing the water. “Well, after what you did last night, maybe you do deserve a free show.” And since Ezio still looked blank, he got up and started to cross over, pulling at Ezio’s chair until it was turned sideways from the table, and Altair could settle on the Italian’s lap.

Ezio had the look of a startled deer in the headlights. “What, now?”

“Yes, now,” Altair intoned, leaning closer. He had to check his smirk to make sure it was as wicked and seductive as he wanted, and didn’t break into the stupidest grin. “I can definitely give you one, if you want me to—“ 

“No! No I don’t!”

“What? You don’t want to see me strip?” Altair made his voice go all low and husky, pouting. 

“No! I mean, yes, I do, but not like this!”

“Do you have something against strippers after all?” 

“No! It’s just—“

“It’s just me, then. Am I not your type?”

Ezio started to speak very fast, apparently afraid Altair would jump in and misinterpret his words again. “You look good, you really do, and stripping is amazing, very athletic, I’m sure it should be a national sport. You’d definitely do a good job, I’d like to see, so yes, but not as perk, this is not what I had in mind when I— I just wanted to punch Vieri, well, if that means helping you, I’m glad I helped, but it cost me nothing, not that I wouldn’t do it if it did, but you don’t have to—“ He ran out of breath then, and Altair watched with amusement until the man started to speak again, apparently having given up. “I currently do not have any five dollars bills.”

That made Altair laugh out loud as he pulled back and returned to his seat. “My god, you are adorable.” He eyed Ezio, noting how his blush was barely visible on his olive-toned skin. “That will not do, not without five dollars bills. Raincheck, then.”

“Does that mean I can bring you breakfast again?” Ezio perked up. Altair smiled.

“Yes, but only the shitty kind. And no coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a chapter. I guess.


	5. Chapter 5

When Ezio had asked whether he enjoyed working at the club, Altair had answered that he could, maybe, at times. But even then, nothing and nobody could make Altair say that he missed working there, not even cute, tall, shredded bouncers. But still, after a week away to allow his cuts and scrapes to heal, Altair still felt slightly excited to be back in the scene. It must be the atmosphere, a strange mix of casual, sleazy and grubby, that, as usual, without fail, put Altair in such a high that even the caffeine-induced kind couldn’t even rival.

Dressed in simple jeans and a white hoodie, he approached the bar, where Desmond was nimbly juggling two shakers and one liquor bottle, passing the objects behind his back and pouring shots in midair, earning much oh-ah and applause from the audience. Altair paused to watch too, liking the flair of the performance and admiring the skills behind it – he, who sometimes failed to pour the hot water from his kettle to his mug of tea, had many reasons to admire Desmond’s accuracy. He waited until the bartender had finished his dance and served up the drinks with all necessary flourish, before slipping onto a stool and nodding a greeting. 

Knowing the drill, Desmond slid him a glass of juice, before pulling down the towel he had over a shoulder, picking up a glass, and methodically buffing it to a shine. Altair sucked on the straw and contemplated Desmond’s body language. The younger man had managed to get the “bartender open to shady conversations and interesting, possibly life-ruining gossips” spot on. When he was in front of Desmond like that, Altair felt like he had no other choice but comply. He had to gossip. 

“So how’s the catch tonight?” He asked, making a vague gesture of tossing his head to the crowd that was starting to build up. Altair prided himself on being observant, but lack of sleep and exhaustion sometimes were seriously taxing on his awareness. For his part, Desmond just seemed to be on alert at all times – the benefit of his younger age, no doubt, as he was fond of pointing out if only to get a groan out of Altair.

“Oh, decent,” Desmond looked up, appearing almost bored if not for the mischievous grin on his lips. He hooked a wine glass to the overhead rack, where they hang like stalactites, before picking up a tumbler. “Check out Mr. Moneybags on your eight.”

Altair turned to look discretely over his shoulder. And blanched. Because, standing out in the crowd, was Ezio. The Italian was sporting his usual pony tail, but his clothing was more casual. He wore faded jeans tucked into a pair of brown leather boots, a white shirt untucked and unbuttoned a little down the chest, to show a leather beaded necklace resting on the hollow of his neck, between his clavicles. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to display the many leather bracelets he wore. Ezio too had recovered well from the fight, and had apparently gotten some rest, and a much-needed shave. He looked more relaxed, sipping on a neat, amber-colored drink and exchanging pleasantries with a few other patrons, than Altair had ever seen him. 

“Look at those boots!” Desmond was saying, snickering to himself. “Where does he think he is? Ren fair?”

“I am gonna kill him,” Altair muttered.

As if he had been listening, Ezio looked over then. He caught Altair’s eyes and broke into the shittiest grin that Altair had ever seen. If he had been closer, Altair was sure that he would promptly throw a punch and at least break that over-sized nose. And maybe split those over-sized smirking lips while he was at it. As Altair seethed, Ezio put a hand into his pocket and slowly, dramatically, pulled out a thick wad of crisp, new five dollars bills, still bound together by a rubber band. He waved the wad at Altair twice, winked, and magicked them away again into his person. Altair huffed and turned his back to him resolutely, studying his juice with much interest before taking out the straw and knocking back the rest of it like a shot.

Desmond, of course, didn’t miss out on that. “You know him?”

“He’s dead to me,” he grumbled, and proceeded to sulk at the bar until it was time for his opening number.

As Altair had expected, Ezio was at the front row. He stood out as one of the oldest, and the one with most style and poise in the crowd of gay men of varying styles and ages. He was sitting cross legged in his chair, looking perfectly content with himself. As soon as Altair made his entrance, he pulled out a bill from seemingly nowhere, and flicked it onto the stage.

Altair ignored him resolutely. Later, he would eat that shitty nerd alive, and not in the fun way either. Despite all that bravado and charm that he put on display, Altair knew for a fact that Ezio was a huge shy dumbass, who blushed like a schoolgirl underneath his tan. Tonight, Altair would give no crap about the crowd. His sole objective would be to make Ezio blush so hard that everyone would be able to see.

°

The bouncer obviously recognized him. At first, Ezio thought he wouldn’t be let in, but he still subjected himself to the bear-man’s stone cold silent gaze with the most grace he could muster. Apparently, he must have passed some kind of test, because Bear-man finally stepped aside and gave him the smallest of nods and his frown even lightened a fraction. Not something to boast about just yet, but Ezio would take approval where he could get, among Altair’s friends.

The club was… Well, it was typical for this kind of place. But it was not the den of degeneration and perversion the movies sometimes made them out to be either. It had everything that was expected of a strip club: a faux-glamour ambiance with individual tables and plush armchairs, a shining bar, many conveniently placed poles, and a three-tiered stage that was still unlit. There was a passage around the back that Ezio assumed lead to the private booths. That was it. Just a place where normal people went to have a good time. 

Ezio felt slightly self-conscious, mingling with the gay men that were obviously the club’s targeted market. They were young and confident the way Ezio was sure he had never been, not really. He felt slightly like a creep here, felt like he was intruding, even if none of them showed any hostility towards him. Some of them even showed interest, and Ezio let them ease him into conversation to calm his nerves. He’d always felt better when he started talking. 

He was not entirely sure why he was here. Part of him said it was because he wanted to see the conditions Altair worked in, to make sure with his own eyes that he was safe. Another part, the childish side that still liked to pull pranks on his brothers and sister, was just here to be as annoying as possible. 

There was more, too. Despite all his teasing, and even if he didn’t hate this job, Altair still seemed very self-conscious about it. He never talked about work with Ezio, or only in the most general terms possible. It was very difficult to ask him how his day had been. Ezio had been over at his apartment for three times now, and every time he refused to let Ezio in further than the kitchen, because his bedroom was apparently too full of stripping things for Ezio’s sensitivity.

Ezio just wanted to get it out of the way. Sure, Altair had offered him a “free show”, the first time he’d brought breakfast, but he was pretty sure it had been a test. He was sure Altair wasn’t willing to see it through. Which was why he’d never even think about cashing in his raincheck, either. But he did want Altair to know that, even if Ezio saw him stripping, even if Ezio saw him in his very place of work, it wouldn’t change anything about the way Ezio saw him, Altair, as a person.

Ezio was wrong, as he often was. Seeing Altair at work… it did change his opinion on Altair as a person. As he watched the other man moved to the music, Ezio’s cross-legged posture became a strategic advantage, though still quite uncomfortable. God. Ezio had never let himself go, physically, and he used to think he was pretty fit up until the moment he saw Altair dance. He had a control of his muscles in ways that Ezio couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and right now he was using every ounce of his skills in a personal attack against Ezio. This is what I get for trying to be snazzy, Ezio thought to himself, mouth going dry at the sight of Altair slithering down to his hands and knees, and humped the stage. I am gonna cream myself right here and get tossed out on my ass like the embarrassing creep that I am. 

If he had been to strip club more frequently, he would also have remembered that every number included a one-on-one experience, and that he shouldn’t have sat so close to the stage. Altair was heading towards him now, taking his hands and pulling him up to the uproar applause of the other patrons. Altair leaned against him, his lips brushing Ezio’s ear. “I am gonna kill you,” he whispered, and Ezio let out a nervous laugh. He probably deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late. I've been busy, and ill on top of that. And most of all, this chapter was really hard to write for obvious reason. I hope you don't mind me glossing over the actual stripping, because the most experience I'd got of the activity was the two Magic Mike movies, and even then.


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of his second number, Altair’s blood was running hot enough that he would need no warm up to kick the shit out of the wiseass Ezio turned out to be. 

Oh sure, he knew that Ezio was no good boy, that Ezio had a mischievous streak a mile while and seemed to have trouble on speed dial at that, if the way he picked a fight at his first appearance in New York society was any indication. But with Altair, Ezio had always been cautious, respectful, shy, even. Especially, the topic of Altair’s occupation was treated with the utmost sensitivity, and that meant Altair didn’t mention it and Ezio didn’t ask about it. Ezio tracking down the address of Altair’s work place and showing up unexpected, treating everything like a joke… It felt almost like betrayal.

But Altair had to admit, maybe he held onto the sting because he liked the bitterness of it. In his righteous anger, he felt almost vindicated. This relationship was too strange, too unreal to be true from day one. He was certain that no person in their right mind would still want to see him, after sitting in his closet-sized kitchen drinking shitty coffee and eating shitty bagels in pathetic attempts at ‘dates’. Now that he’d seen Ezio in his strip club, Altair took satisfaction in kindling the need and hunger in the man’s dark eyes. At least, there was logic and certainty in knowing that the banker was just slumming it with strippers because he was after Altair’s ass. Being desired for his body – that was familiar territory and Altair could deal with it. He could bank on it, even. 

(See what he did there?)

Usually, after his show, Altair would hang around. The strippers would send someone out to some drive through for dinner, and they’d all eat back stage, when they weren’t performing or prowling the audience hoping for someone to call them over for a private dance. That night, after he’d finished his routine, Altair put on his clothes and left, passing by Connor on his way out to let the bouncer know he wouldn’t need a ride. 

It was easy to locate Ezio in the parking lot. Even if the idiot wasn’t letting the engine running (Doesn’t rich people have to pay for gas, like normal people?) and leaving the lights on, there would be no missing his shiny white Audi Q7 that reflected the fluorescent light of the parking lot like a glamourous ghost. As Altair approached, he noticed the Italian sitting at the wheel scrolling through his phone, though he looked up immediately as Altair approached. With the usual clicking sound, the car door unlocked, and Altair let himself in. 

Ezio looked over and was about to say something. No doubt, after he’d left after Altair’s first number, he’d had plenty of time to work on a pretty speech. Plus, he was a banker; selling bullshit must be coming easy to him. Altair wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand. Brandishing his only weapon and defense, which was his hostility, Altair took the first move. “What was that about? Are you here to make fun of me?”

“Altair, no, it wasn’t like that—“

“What was it, then? Are you so desperate to see me naked that you couldn’t wait through the proper dating?”

“But we weren’t dating, were we?” Ezio blurted out, and Altair sat back, stunned. He had told himself many times that this guy was just a sleaze like the rest, but hearing him say it out loud… it actually hurt. 

It shouldn’t have gotten to him. It shouldn’t have. But Altair was still stunned, and he couldn’t bring himself to throw the punch he had been gearing himself for all night. And he was stupid enough to let that expression flash across his face. To let Ezio know that it’d gotten to him.

He’d thought there would be gloating. But Ezio seemed to be reeling as hard as he was. The Italian shook his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before he finally managed, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“Save me the fucking coddling,” Altair spat. “What else could you have meant?”

“I just—I just wanted to get it out of the way!” Ezio exclaimed. His arms were flailing about, gesticulating wildly, and Altair briefly contemplated the wisdom in holding a heated argument with an Italian in a closed space. As he got worked up, Ezio’s accent didn’t get heavier, but there was definitely a different intonation, an almost musical rising and falling to his words. “I’m tired of dodging around it. I can’t ask how your day has been, and you wouldn’t tell me anything else about yourself. That’s what I meant when I said we weren’t dating.”

“Is there so much to say about my job?” Altair asked coldly, to hide the fact that he was somewhat mollified. He had noted Ezio’s attempt at conversations, at his effort to fill out the blanks and talk for both of them. But Altair couldn’t relate to anything that he said. When Ezio talked about interest rates and negotiating loans and cash flows, all Altair could do was to give him a blank look. And since Altair offered him no other topics, their ‘dates’ usually ended kind of awkwardly. With Ezio excusing himself to go back to work. “I go to the club and I take my clothes off for strangers. Doesn’t take a genius to get that. Unlike you, it’s not my entire life.”

It was Ezio’s turn to be silent now. For a moment, Altair could see how lost he was, and realized that the older man had to put on not only one kind of bravado. Altair slowly let it sink in, understanding that his words had hurt because he was right. He was an immigrant himself, but he’d grown up here. Even if he was missing one or two parents right now, he had had a home and childhood friends and a place to think of as home, where he could easily visit. The way he saw it, Ezio had had a grand life in Italia only to find himself here, in a big city, in the middle of his life, without a familiar face. All that he could claim to his name, all that he had to nurture was his job, and wasn’t that so fucking sad? 

Occasionally Altair had noted that Ezio never talked about his friends. In his bitter moments, he had thought that the Italian didn’t want to mix fantasy and real life, didn’t want his dignified friends to know about his cheap tastes and guilty pleasures. Now, he realized the answer was simpler than that. It was just that Ezio didn’t have any friend here. 

“God, we’re a mess,” he blurted out. Ezio had been averting his eyes, and now Altair looked up to meet them, and held his gaze. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it, either.”

“I’m glad we got it out of our systems,” Ezio gave a short, brittle laugh. He placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Forget it. I’ll just drive you home, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, (unjustified?) drama, fresh from my angst-loving brain. I literally just finished typing this up.  
> Also I wanted to give Ezio a fancier car, a Porsche or something, but I couldn't pass the obvious joke with the names.


	7. Chapter 7

When Ezio packed up his things to leave work at 6PM on a Monday night, he suddenly realized what the American meant when they said “dirty looks”.

The worst thing, he thought, was that no colleague would display their discontent head-on. You have to feel it pinging off of your back, like hedge witches’ hexes, like miniature arrows shot by the miniature people in Gulliver’s Travels. It stung just enough to be an inconvenience, but not enough to stop you. At least, it was not enough to stop Ezio. He was sure that nothing short of actual, full-sized arrows would stop him from going where he had to be.

He had somewhere to be after work now, how about that?

Slinging his computer bag over his shoulder, he nodded to Sofia before taking the lift to the parking lot. He supposed, if no one else, at least Sofia would be happy to see him leave so early. On an average week, he stayed at work until as late as 10PM, which meant she’d have to hang around until at least eight – being his PA and all. She was a nice girl, pretty too, and he was sure she’d be delighted for a chance to have a life. For her, “have a life” involved curling up at home with a good book and a glass of wine, and on most nights she didn’t even have time for that. 

Ezio hurried to the Audi. He still remembered the argument that had sparked there, even before his relationship had officially started. Such a charmer he was, that he managed to offend Altair by even bringing up the concept of it. But thanks to his blunder, they’d managed to have an honest conversation, and started to more or less work things out.

It was still a work in progress.

Ezio now had the confirmation of Altair’s schedule, given by the man himself. He worked three nights a week at the club: Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. He also had a day job, at a bookstore called the Codex, from 8AM to 7PM. Their evening plan was this: Ezio would pick Altair up from work, drive him home, order some dinner, and they would spend the evening together at Altair’s place. 

They were still awkward, embarrassed by the offense they had caused each other. Their silence was filled by Altair fumbling with the dashboard and browsing through Ezio’s playlist of classic rock. As they approached the neighborhood, Altair pointed him to a place to park the car. He then hopped out to wait on the sidewalk as Ezio maneuvered the car into place.

When Ezio got out with the laptop bag, Altair gave it a look. “I thought the point of this was to give you a life after work,” he sniped. 

Ezio flushed. “I don’t intend to work this evening, trust me,” he said, grabbing the strap protectively. “It’s just in case the car is broken into. There is a lot of sensitive information in here.”

“Oh, and you’d rather take it where I can get my grubby paws on it?”

“That’s not my concern, but yes,” Ezio said as calmly as possible. 

Finally, Altair let out a huff. “If I see you touch that thing even once, you are out of my house.”

“Reasonable,” Ezio agreed, relieved. He was glad he hadn’t told Altair he was supposed to chain his computer down when he left it unattended. He even had a special lock and key for that. 

The entry and kitchen, Ezio already knew. He carefully toed off his shoes and stepped over Altair’s discarded sneakers. The light went on, revealing an empty table, with a new stain – spilled tea that had dried and glazed over, that Altair hadn’t had time to wipe off yet. In the sink, the offending mug stood, still waiting to be washed. Aside from these details, the kitchen was pretty neat. Altair had told the truth when he said his place wasn’t usually a pigsty. 

One of the doors in the kitchen led to the shower, Ezio knew that. The other door, until now, stayed shut. It was guarded by Altair so closely that Ezio didn’t even dare to look at it wrong. At the moment, Altair stood with his hand on the knob, as if debating his decision. Measuring, for the last time, whether Ezio was worth it.

“If you laugh, I’m gonna kick your ass,” he decided finally, turning the knob. “Come on in.”

Altair’s apartment didn’t have a living room, so a lot of living happened either in the kitchen or in here, the bedroom. As he walked in, Ezio took note of the carpet, old and worn but clean, and probably would feel soft under his toes. There was no couch, just a blanket spread in a corner of the room, on top of which a bunch of colorful, mismatched pillows were arranged. A few rickety shelves stood against the wall, piled high with books. A single bed was pushed against the wall, a TV at the end of it. The window was shuttered, at this time of night. Under it, there was a desk and a chair, both having the “rescued from the streets” look on them. 

It was the bare minimum, but Altair had made himself comfortable with what he could get. 

“Looks cozy,” Ezio said, putting his bag down against the wall. He gestured to the shelves, asking permission to come over and look. Altair didn’t stop him. The books were thick and battered – second hand, no doubt – and well-thumbed, a few of the covers dog-eared with use. A few hard-covers were displayed in positions of honors on the top shelves, their spines gleaming. They were all history books, specific and detailed. Ezio had read a few himself, and he knew that kind of books. What’s more, now that Ezio was paying more attention, he noticed that the drawings on the walls were not just drawings. They were maps, of different locations, as they were seen in different time periods. A couple of them were tactical maps; they were covered with arrows and marks indicating how certain famous battles were carried out. 

Altair had obviously expected this kind of reaction. “Yeah, I’m kind of a geek,” he said, wandering over. “Are you laughing yet?” 

In lieu of a reply, Ezio plucked a book from the line-up, tilting it over to show the title, “Orientalism”. “I read this one, it’s good,” he said. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Altair’s face brightened, and Ezio felt this strange light feeling, like he was in the lift jetting up to the top of the Empire State Building. “Well, Ezio, I could probably tell you that over dinner. Curry sounds good?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter was a bit boring. I tried to make my writing quota, but I wasn't that inspired.  
> I need people to gush with.  
> Folks, if you're too lazy to leave a review, tumblr has an IM system now. My tumblr is mirisprouts. Hit me up!!!


	8. Chapter 8

If you looked at only the details, Altair’s life right now sounded a lot like a bullshit romance. The high school drop-out working odd jobs, stripping to pay the rent. The Italian banker, now CFO of a major corporation, rich, handsome, elegant, and foreign in every way possible. A chance encounter. Love at first sight? (Please.) And now, after many societal and personal obstacles, they finally managed to find common ground.

The common ground was in that they were both humongous nerds.

Who knew common ground was so easy to find? In fact, it was just behind Altair’s bedroom/living room door. If he’d known that, maybe he would’ve shown Ezio in sooner. 

To be fair, he hadn’t expected it would be this pleasant to spend time with Ezio. Altair’s hoard of books, mostly bought from used bookstores, or on clearance at the Codex, was a veritable powder keg that sparked a heated conversation between them. After some basic exchanges, Altair realized Ezio had a rather… pointed knowledge of Middle-East history. Meaning he had very specific and detailed understanding of a few topics, but remained vastly ignorant in others. Altair had fun quizzing him, mapping the extent of his knowledge. He was amused that most of the facts Ezio memorized were tactical rather than economical or financial, which would be expected given his education and career.

“That’s what happens when your uncle is in the military,” Ezio explained, laughing a little as they both pored over the map of a famous battle. “He was always explaining these things to me when we played chess. And this as I grew up, until now. I think I still know all the details of every great battles, but I doubt you’d want to discuss Napoleon.” He laughed when Altair wrinkled his nose, and continued, “The Middle-East was my favorite. I was always day-dreaming about it as a boy. That’s why I read some more about it… though now I see that I’m not as erudite as I’d like to be.”

“Any more ‘erudite’ and you’d graduate from nerddom to be an actual specialist,” Altair snorted. “I’m actually impressed.”

“That’s good. Do I gain a gold nerd star?”

“I’ll have to dig that up for you in my closet,” Altair jerked his thumb to the piece of furniture in question. “I’m sure I used something like that once or twice in a show.”

They fell into silence until Altair realized what he had said. “Oh,” Ezio said, slowly. “So you keep your… props and costumes in the closet?”

“Why, you’re suddenly interested in my stripping activity again, now?” Altair snorted, amused as he could tell Ezio’s mind was working furiously to figure out how a gold star would fit into a strip-tease routine. The doorbell chose that moment to buzz, and Altair got up. “That would be dinner. Let’s eat, and if you’re good, I will maybe show you.”

They’d ordered curry that came in tinfoil containers with generous helping of sauce. That meant they’d have to leave the books and retire somewhere else where they could do no damages, should any mishaps happened. Altair directed Ezio to sit on his bed, turning on the TV for some entertainment as their mouths would be otherwise occupied.

“You’re worried we’d dirty your books, but you don’t mind as much about the bed,” Ezio observed, sounding amused as he arranged himself on the small bed, bending his legs to fit in. He had his back against the wall, his feet against the railing of the bed, facing the TV, and the food container balanced on his knee. 

After a moment’s deliberation, Altair fit himself between Ezio’s legs, leaning against the man’s chest. “Well, yeah, these are my priorities,” he said, pretending to be oblivious to the intake of breath that Ezio took. “The bed will recover from any disaster. The books wouldn’t.”

They ate chicken thighs with their fingers like barbarians, tearing chunks of naan and dipping them in the sauce. Ezio wasn’t averted to sharing, and when he opened his mouth to accept food from Altair, the latter made sure he got a smear of sauce on his beard.

“Hey!” Ezio protested, laughing a bit, and made to wipe it off on Altair’s shoulder. Altair responded by shoving a handful of napkins at him. He would like to pull Ezio’s hair, but that was too much tussling as it was, on such a narrow bed. So he gave up and grabbed the remote, changing through the channels, looking for something remotely interesting. After about five minutes of this hopeless search, Ezio spoke up, “I have Netflix, if you want.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Altair elbowed him in the ribs, earning a short ‘oof’. Ezio handed Altair his food, hooked his phone up to the TV by one of the trailing cables, and by magic, the luxury of paid entertainment appeared in front of Altair. “Holy shit, so many choices.”

They settled on one of Netflix’ originals, Marco Polo. Mongolia wasn’t an area either of them was familiar to, but they both knew enough of history to smell when there was bullshit. Therefore, there was much furiously Googling on the phone about such and such portrayed characters, whether such and such events were accurate. Ezio admitted that the Italian delivered was pretty on point. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the show.

“At least it’s entertaining,” Ezio commented, sprawled the best he could in the small bed. He had stirred, but he had not dislodged Altair in any way. Altair wondered how much longer it would take before he would admit to an arm or a leg falling asleep. On screen, the concubine, the seductress, bent herself into a dance, stripping out of her gauzy robes and mesmerizing the soldiers sent to capture her. And then she executed a series of improbable moves, taking down the soldiers, beating the odds. Ezio whistled. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how gravity works, but okay.”

“Ssh,” Altair kicked at his ankle. “Now’s the time to stop being a nerd and try to enjoy the show.”

“What, when there’s a woman prancing naked around?”

“No, when there’s blood, you pervert.” Absently, Altair pulled Ezio’s arms around him. Cuddling with him was almost as good as he imagined cuddling Connor would be. Ezio was warm, firm, but Altair frowned when he found the other’s hands. One of them was cold and wet from a can of instant coffee, which was resting on Ezio’s knee the way the take-out food had been, condensation budding on its surface and dampening Ezio’s jeans. “Isn’t canned coffee disgusting?”

“Yes, and consists mostly of syrup,” Ezio admitted, even as he took another sip. “But it’s still better than energy drinks, and at least it tastes vaguely like coffee, which is more pleasant.”

“Being with me bore you so much that you have to drink shitty coffee to stay awake?” Altair prodded. Ezio must had slowly been growing used to his teasing, because he managed a comeback this time. 

“Of course not. I could never have fallen asleep between you poking and pinching and prodding at me.” He ran a hand over the back of Altair’s neck, caressing upwards against the short-cropped hair there, and Altair shuddered. Ezio’s tone was vaguely triumphant at the reaction he had elicited. 

“You’re crazy,” Altair grunted. “You’re never going to sleep tonight.”

“Never stopped me,” Ezio laughed. “I’m only gearing up for tomorrow. If I don’t get enough caffeine in me now, it’ll be too hard to wake up in the morning.”

Altair twisted in his arms a little to give him a look. “I haven’t had much caffeine in my life, but I’m sure that’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works for me,” Ezio grinned. “Now hush. Aren’t we supposed to pay attention to the show?”

Altair glared at him for a second more, just for good measure, before wriggling to face the TV again. “If you get too restless tonight and keep me up, you’re sleeping on the floor.” 

He didn’t realize what that’d implied until Ezio’s rested his cheek on his shoulder and started to nose at his neck. “I’ll sleep like a rock, don’t worry about it. Does this mean I’m invited to stay the night?” He asked, his breath warm against Altair’s skin. 

Altair shuddered, biting on his lower lip. “Yeah,” he said finally, tugging Ezio’s arms again securely around himself. He couldn’t deny how good it felt, how comforting the banality of the evening was. “Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see how long that was? I managed to crank out 400 extra words for you guys!!  
> I'm probably taking a break from this story to work on a new idea I had. Anyone wants to tell me about cool/romantic/touristy things to do in Boston??  
> Anyway, that's what I plan to do. There's no telling what the shower will make me do. I write maybe 80% of any chapter in my head in the shower all the time.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time the others arrived, Altair had already staked out a big table. With Connor sitting there, nobody had dared to challenge them their territory, no matter how excessive it seemed, with only one guy nursing a beer and another stirring a virgin cocktail in gaudy neon colors. 

“This is an improvement from your usual haunts,” Malik remarked as soon as he stepped in and took a look around. Altair had to agree with him. The bar had the looks of a speakeasy; all covered in varnished wood and red velvet cushions, and lit with warm yellow light. The door was decorated with a circle of stained glass, which filtered the evening sunlight into small colorful shapes on the floor. There was music playing, a mixed playlist of different genres, but never loud enough to interrupt conversations or annoy any non-fans. The clientele was young and trendy, though remarkably less rowdy than the one they were used to at the club. “And you said you weren’t mooning.”

“What does this have to do with mooning?” Altair huffed, glaring as Malik pulled a chair to sit at his other side. It wasn’t like that place was saved, except it was. “Does this face look like it’s mooning?”

Malik dragged the drink menu over to himself. “You’re willing to pay ten bucks for a cocktail, you want to make a good impression. You’re definitely mooning,” Malik snickered, and leaned forward to look at Connor. “Did he tell you to ‘dress proper’, too?”

“I don’t think so,” Connor looked down at his blue plaid shirt and jeans. “This is proper, right?”

As Altair tasked himself with reassuring Connor that yes, this was very proper, he didn’t have any doubt about Connor being proper, that was why he hadn’t need to remind him, and wasn’t that little braid in his hair just _darling_ , Malik’s retinue – Kadar, Maria, and Adha – filed over with drinks, promptly filling up the table. 

“So, Altair,” Maria said, after the usual and general greetings, in that sly sweet voice of hers. When she talked like that Altair had goose bumps and wanted to cower under the table and die. She was one of his best friends (the pathetic attempt at having sex while they were teens notwithstanding) but she could make him miserable like nobody’s business. Unlike Malik, who had only little pity to spare, Maria was completely merciless. “I take it your sugar daddy is gonna pick up the tab?”

“Altair’s got a sugar daddy?” Kadar asked in all his blue-eyed earnestness. Altair couldn’t believe Malik let his dear little brother hang out with these women of depravity. He kind of wanted to break the stem off of his cocktail glass and stab Maria with the pointy end. 

“I told you you’re not to take advantage, and he’s not my sugar daddy!”

“Why’s that?” Adha butted in. There was a reason she was Malik and Maria’s best friend, and it was that she was every inch as insufferable as they were. Together, the three of them relish in Altair’s shame and despair. “Is it because there has been no sugar exchanged?” She cackled. “Has he not given you any sugar, or have you not given him any…” she leaned in now, eyebrows waggling, making an absurd grabbing-and-kneading motion with her hands, “… of _that_ sugar?”

“I have a bouncer sitting right here, I’ll have you kicked out,” Altair informed her, ignoring Malik and Maria who were bursting out in laughter, toasting each other with their drinks. He felt his face warm up like he was held over a hot griddle. He was half tempted to hide behind Connor’s back, but the younger man was also smiling, the traitor. There went Altair’s plan of using him as muscle to scare his unruly friends into decency. Adha just gave them all a sweet smile like ‘who, me?’ and rewarded herself a sip of her cocktail, smacking her lips in satisfaction.

The bell above the door tinkled as Ezio walked in. As always, he looked so gorgeous in his smart (and expensive) suit that Altair just knew that his friends would be insufferable. Why had Altair ever thought it was a good idea to introduce Ezio to his friends? None of them was trustworthy, and they were even corrupting Connor. For a second he hoped wildly that Ezio wouldn’t recognize them, but even if that was the case, Malik hadn’t missed his entrance. “Ezio, is it?” He raised his good arm, waving with an uncharacteristic friendliness that couldn’t prelude anything good. “Over here.”

“Good evening,” Ezio smiled as he walked over. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.” He looked tired from the long day. Altair didn’t understand much about his job but he knew one thing for sure: it was stressful. How many times had he kissed Ezio’s tired eyes, heavy and blood-shot after hours of staring at computer screens? Not nearly enough times. He looked up and tried to elbow Malik out of the way so Ezio could have a seat next to him, but Malik refused to budge. 

“Good thing we saved you a seat,” he said, indicating the chair between him and Maria. Ezio hesitated a little before sitting down, unbuttoning his jacket so he could sweep the front panels back, all in one fluid motion. Adha raised both eyebrows at Altair; Altair could only respond with an ‘I told you so’ look of smugness. For once, he actually found himself a man with class.

“Nice of you to join us,” Maria spoke up. There was that smile again, and Altair tried to guess where her feet were so he could kick the hell out of her. “You’ve met Connor, I think. I’m Maria, this is Adha, Kadar, Kadar’s big brother Malik. Altair told us _so much_ about you.”

“Not everything about how dumb I appear to be, I hope,” Ezio chuckled. He sent Altair a nervous look, like he wanted to ask approval for even so small a sentence. Altair tried to stop scowling to smile at him even a little, but his face was stuck now. He felt that this evening would end in dread and either Ezio or he, or maybe both of them, would storm out the door, crying. “I, ah, am going to get a drink. May I get any of you a second round?”

There were a sound of general agreement, and they all gave Ezio their orders. As soon as Ezio left, Adha made a show of fixing her hair and pushing up her breasts. “Have you really not laid claim to that, Altair? Because I am telling you, I won’t say no to his sugar.” 

“And before you say he’s immune to Adha’s charms, I’m telling you, he isn’t,” Maria piped in. “Trust me. He looked.” She giggled, eyes bright with mischief. “Averted his eyes like a gentleman, but I’m sure she caught his attention for a while.”

“He was only shocked and repulsed by your vulgarity,” Altair tried, desperately, to sound smart and condescending. Adha burst out in a glittering peal of laughter. “Really, that’s not how a man looks at a woman when he’s thinking dirty thoughts. Connor knows that kind of look! Tell them, Connor!” 

Disappointingly, Connor seemed a little distracted, and only let out a general hum of agreement. He obviously wasn’t listening at all. Altair wondered if it had anything to do with Malik looking so smug. 

“Are you really trying to tell us what men look like when they want something from us?” Maria asked, smirking. “Sorry to break it to you, Alty, but he was interested. You have to keep him on a tight leash.” She shut up suddenly and looked up again with that amiable smile again. “Hey, Ezio, want any help with that?”

Ezio had returned with a full tray, and Connor got up to help him distribute the drinks. When Ezio was about to return to his place, Connor stopped him. “Take my seat,” he said, before moving both himself and his drink to Ezio’s previous place next to Malik. 

“Virgin mojito?” Ezio asked as he sat down next to Altair and presented the drink like it might earn him praises. Altair flashed him a quick smile and shifted a little closer, taking comfort in his scent. 

“Thanks,” he nodded, taking a sip. “What d’ya get?”

“Wine,” Ezio replied, glancing to the glass of clear white liquid. Altair wrinkled his nose.

“Gross, you’re not getting any kisses tonight.”

“Gentlemen, keep it PG, please?” Adha interrupted with the fakest scolding voice ever, but obviously Ezio would take it seriously, looking like a school boy caught smoking in the rest room. 

“Of course, excuse us. After all that effort to arrange a meeting for all of us together, I’ll have to make more effort at getting to know you.” He started the conversation with what he obviously thought as safe grounds, “What do you all do, then?”

Kadar started to speak, but Adha quickly slapped a hand over his mouth to stop him. There was a moment of silence when the two women considered what to say to get maximum shock reaction. “Strippers,” Adha decided. “We’re all strippers.”

The conversation – if it could be called that – degenerated from there. Ezio blanched as he usually did when presented with strippers. There was certain disbelief about Malik being a stripper, which the latter pretended to take offense in and loudly declared something about being “handi-capable”. To demonstrate how handi-capable he was in the department of strip-dancing, Malik somehow ended up Connor’s lap, to Connor’s surprise though – Altair noted – not displeasure, and Altair feeling like he was about to expire from second-hand embarrassment. It took a while to persuade Malik to leave the warm nest of Connor’s lap, though afterwards he seemed to sit extremely close, constantly pressing himself up against Connor’s side. 

Both Adha and Maria offered to give Ezio lap dances, which he turned down in alarm. Altair had to admit Ezio was dealing much better with teases – maybe he had started to build up immunity after all Altair’d done to unsettle him. Even the girls’ pouting didn’t sway him, and they ended up demonstrating on Kadar, who nearly died laughing at two of his best friends trying to get all sexy up on him. 

The sight of such a young man getting a lapful of attractive women didn’t fail to draw attention to them, as well as general jealousy. Altair had no idea how they weren’t kicked out, but then again his friends were very good at toeing the line and stopping just short of incriminating themselves. Even they knew that they were getting quite too rowdy, so they proposed to move to a less respectable establishment. Ezio valiantly picked up the tab and begged off, citing work. Altair was only too gleeful to stay behind with him.

“Are they going to be alright to drive?” He said, as they watched the others walked to the parking lot. Malik was swaying perilously and had to lean against Connor for balance. Kadar, him, was tasked with steadying Maria and Adha on their high heels. “They’re quite drunk. Especially Malik.”

Altair gave him a look of disbelief. “Did you pay attention to nothing?” he laughed. “Malik doesn’t drink alcohol. That’s just him flirting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd rather ship Connor accross centuries and dimensions than ship him with Haytham.  
> Sorry for the delay! I was giving everything I got on another fic, water and a flame (that I would be very happy if you'd read!). It was going to be a one-chapter PWP, but then I wrote 4 chapters and no explicit porn happened.


	10. Chapter 10

The second time Ezio met up with Altair’s friends – for coffee and donuts this time – they talked about the outing at the bar like veterans reminiscing about a battle. 

“You’re too easy to tease,” Adha snickered. Ezio was relieved that she was wearing a button up today, even if the red fabric was quite sheer. “The faces you made? Priceless.”

“I really thought we’d be kicked out,” Ezio admitted, chuckling as he opened the lid of his triple-shot latte to shake in some nutmeg. Altair had expressed disbelief and mistrust at seeing so much caffeine packed into the same container. Now he was eyeing Ezio’s addition to his drink with some curiosity, so Ezio handed him the packet of the spice, which he sniffed carefully, and sneezed.

“That is evil,” Altair commented, picking up the tag of his tea bag to swirl the thing around in his cup for optimal infusion. He had his free hand tucked deep in Ezio’s jacket pocket, for no other apparent reason than that he enjoyed the feel of the lining. Ezio could feel him rubbing the silk between his fingers distractedly, his fingertips sometimes brushing Ezio’s side. It was a good thing Ezio wasn’t ticklish. “You have weird tastes. Anyway, Adha’s right. You’re so easily shocked. It’s like taking candies from a baby.”

Maria slurped noisily from her cup, finishing up her frappe, and looked up at Altair with a sweet smile. Ezio had learned to be wary of that smile of hers. “You sound so tough now, but at the moment, if someone’d offered you a hole to hide in, you wouldn’t have said no either,” she leered at him, to which Altair replied with a sniff and a huff. She gave a benevolent smile and turned her attention back to Ezio. “Anyway, I’m glad we haven’t scared you off permanently. For a rich middle-aged man you’re pretty fun to hang out with.”

Ezio’s smile faltered at the reminder of his being in the much dreaded middle age. “Oh, yes. I’m glad you think so.”

“What’s taking Malik so long?” Altair interrupted, checking his phone again for a message that was already fifteen minutes late. “If he’s hiding out in some alley to defile _my_ Connor…”

“Sorry to break it to you, Altair, but _your_ Connor has been doing some defiling of his own,” Adha cut in, earning a heart-felt groan from Altair. Ezio laughed aloud. It had been kind of unexpected to see Altair’s friends click together like that, but Ezio supposed it was a good thing. The way Altair talked about them, it seemed they had both needed an outlet. “They’re probably looking for parking place for the van. You can’t really squeeze it in on these streets.”

“How is Malik dealing with Kadar moving out?” Ezio asked curiously. “I understand they had never been apart.”

“That’s right,” Maria agreed. “And he’s being an absolute idiot. If you ask him, he’s fine, but he’s freaking out about ten thousand different things. It’s just how he is. If you ask me, I think it’s high time Kadar learn to fend for himself. Malik doesn’t coddle him intentionally, but he’s such a neat freak that he leaves nothing undone, and even if Kadar wants to help there’s nothing for him to do.”

“It helps that Kadar’s new place is so close. The neighborhood’s good, too. Now we only need to worry about getting the kid enough furniture to fill that place up.” Adha chuckled. “I hope you’re good at yard sales.”

When Malik’s text came, they quickly finished up their drinks and gathering up any remaining donuts – or donut parts – into their purses or pockets, and hurried outside. Connor waved at them from the window of the van. Kadar opened the back so they could all climb in. With the seats taken out, they sat on the floor. Maria passed the leftover donuts to Kadar and Malik as Connor pulled the van back into traffic. 

“Alright guys, I already got a fridge from a guy at school,” Kadar said enthusiastically. He was probably over excited at being fully in charge of his own life for once. “So the goal today is to get a couch and maybe, a bed. Maybe a shelf or something, but we’ll see when we get there. It might not fit, and I’d really rather spend money on the right couch.” 

“In case you’re wondering what the right couch is like,” Maria drawled lazily, “It has to fit all three of us.” 

Adha burst out laughing and leaned forward to the passenger’s seat to make sure Malik heard her. “Yeah, we plan to have _lots_ of fun on the couch.”

Ezio didn’t quite have time to finish pondering whether they were serious or not. It didn’t take long for them to get to the yard sale, and they all spilled out of the back of the van while Connor and Malik went to park it. Each of the girls promptly took one of Kadar’s arms and bounced away, blending into the crowd. 

There were more people than Ezio’d expected, the street fenced off so potential buyers could browse in all serenity. Old things that were once dear, but that people were now impatiently looking to discard, spread as far as the end of the street. Ezio felt Altair’s hand slip into his, and smiled. 

“A lot of these things seem to be in good condition,” he remarked. “What if we look for something for your place as well?” He thought about the corner of Altair’s bedroom, with the blanket on the floor and the threadbare cushions, some of them so compacted with people’s weight that they couldn’t quite cushion much anymore. “A small couch?”

“I dunno,” Altair shrugged, glancing around. “I don’t wanna pay money to bring home some junk, I could just take them for free from the sidewalk when people toss them out. And the good ones are kinda expensive.” 

They started to stroll slowly, and promptly ran into Kadar and the girls again. They were loitering in a veritable graveyard of couches – old, battered, and just plain old ugly. The prices were minimal, but for good reasons. As if to demonstrate, Maria let herself fall into one lumpy leather couch. As it took her weight, the thing let out a noise that sounded like a fart, making Adha falling over herself in laughter. Kadar was poking thoughtfully at the stuffing of another couch; it looked like it might have once been alive. When the owner of the stand moved over with a scowl, they pinched each other between fits of giggles and quickly slunk away. 

“I’m sure we’ll find something good,” Ezio still insisted. 

“I don’t have any money on me,” Altair patted his pocket. “Pretty sure these people don’t take credit cards.”

“I have cash,” Ezio informed him, smiling disarmingly at another stand owner so he’d let them walk past in peace. “I can get you a couch.”

“Fine, try to look through this garbage.” Altair snorted. “But you’re not spending more than fifty bucks on it. I’m gonna pay you back.”

It was amusing to look at the knick-knack on sales, not only couches. Ezio paused when he saw a lacquered Fabergé egg that turned out to be too damaged to be interesting. He also liked to look at portraits, spending too long staring at the cracked, dusty images of unknown people, whom Altair claimed to be ‘a bit sinister’. 

They came across a bin of used books, which drew a small yell of delight from Altair. Ezio thought if he could’ve plunge into the bin like it was a swimming pool, he would have. Laughing, he stood close to the side and held the books that Altair was interested in, curiously flipping them open to check the content. Dust flew from between the pages, making him cough, and the cobweb and grimes made his fingers sticky, but the books were in fairly good shape and the content was not uninteresting. He was glad to have a plastic bag though, when the purchase was concluded, and carried it dangling over his finger as they walked on ahead.

They ran into Connor and Malik, who apparently weren’t solely focused on couches either. Connor was holding a ship in a bottle – a huge and magnificent specimen that Ezio had to stop to admire. “It’s very well done,” he commented. “Professional work. Definitely not a souvenir.”

“No, it’s a very good model of a man o’ war. The craftsman proved a great deal of skills and luck,” Connor beamed. Ezio realized it was the most words he’d heard the younger man string together. There was also a light in his eyes that lit up his face. “Look at the sails. They’re made of paper. When the ship is being assembled, they are folded. When it’s done, the craftsman pulls on a string to raise them, and burn off the string’s end with a heated piece of wire. Look there.” Ezio obeyed, peering closer to see a dark brown spot, small as the head of a match, in the corner of the white sail that had turned slightly yellow with age. “The craftsman probably touched the heated metal to the paper, but it did not catch fire and burn the ship down with it. So much hard work would’ve been wasted.” Connor carefully cradled the bottle back against his chest again. “Grandfather would be so pleased to see this.”

Ezio watched the two of them walk away, Connor shifting the bottle to the crook of his left elbow and offering his right arm to Malik, who took it and all but huddled around it. At a glance down, Ezio saw that Altair was smiling. “Do you think they’d be good for each other?”

“Who knows. Too many things can happen,” Altair shrugged his shoulders. “They’re both good people, I know that.” He tugged on Ezio’s arm. “Come on. These dolls are giving me the skeevies.”

Laughing, Ezio pressed a quick kiss to the top of Altair’s head and let the younger man lead him on. They steered clear of old toys, sometimes distracted by a curio here or there. He wasn’t so guilty about not being 100% focused on searching for Kadar’s couch. Last he saw Kadar and the girls, they were trying on musty 80s clothing from a messy, overloaded rack. 

Eventually, Ezio caught sight of something worth a second glance: a loveseat, too small to be of interest to Kadar, but just small enough to fit into Altair’s modest bedroom. It wasn’t real leather, but the material was still soft and glossy, and didn’t make any farting noise. The red accent was still vivid, even if the white parts had turned into a cream color. “Does that look good to you?” He said, noticing Altair also eyeing the couch with great interest.

“Looks nice,” Altair admitted. “But kinda expensive. I doubt they’d ask less than two hundreds for that.” He looked around and flagged the seller over to ask for the price. She asked for three hundreds, and Altair kind of made a face before tugging at Ezio’s arm again. “Told you. Let’s go.”

Ezio grinned, trying to act more confident than he felt. Okay, he would probably make a fool of himself, but it was not like it was anything new to Altair. He could at least try. Untangling his arm from Altair’s, he put on his best smile and moved over to examine the couch, trying to recall all his training sessions about public relations and put them to good use. Discussions about used furniture turned into discussion about more personal things, such as occupation and taste in interior décor. Ezio lied quite shamelessly, white lies, to put the seller at ease. The more he went on the more he was sure he could convince her. He’d like to show Altair he was good at more than throwing large amounts of money at problems until they went away.

Fifteen minutes after, Altair was calling Connor, asking the group to come back and help move the couch to the van. When Altair told him the price Ezio’d talked the couch down from, none of them believed it. Kadar stared at him for a moment, stared at the couch, and then at Altair. “Can you keep him forever?” 

Ezio felt himself flushing with pleasure. Altair laughed aloud, “Yeah,” he snorted, slipping an arm around Ezio’s waist. “That could be arranged.”

From a distance, Maria hollered over, “Kadar, I found one! Send Ezio over to do the thing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. To ensure my interest in this story, I went ahead and wrote the last chapter. I kind of have an idea how to work towards it.   
> This chapter was quite hard to write. I'm not sure how yard sales function in the US, so this is how they are sometimes held in France. Sorry it wasn't quite as amusing as I thought it'd be.
> 
> *spreads arms* I am ready for some sugar now. Reviews welcome. Five-dollar bills optional.


	11. Chapter 11

Besides from Sunday, Altair had a half-day off from work at the Codex. He chose Thursday morning so he could sleep in a bit and recover from his shift the previous night at the club. A morning off in the middle of the week could be quite useful and he could probably squeeze a lot of things into it, if necessary. Most times though, he was too busy sleeping. 

He slept like the dead. At around ten, though, his body had gotten enough and started to wake him up, which was why he noticed the weak chime from his phone at all. Yawning, Altair rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the phone closer to him. With one arm tucked under the pillow, he poked at the screen with his free hand, squinting until his eyes were accustomed to the light. 

The cause of the chime was a text from Ezio. _Meeting cancelled this afternoon_ , it read. _Free time is not a myth after all. I feel like cooking. Would you like to come over for dinner?_

Immediately, Altair’s eyes brightened as always at the prospect of free food. _Of course_ , he texted back. Climbing out of bed and stretching, he realized that he had not been to Ezio’s place before. With Ezio willing to spend every free evening he had at Altair’s place, Altair hadn’t even thought about doing things the other way around. He was rather curious what a rich Italian banker’s house would be like. 

Ezio’s next message popped up immediately, while Altair knew he was supposed to be working. He grinned to himself, picturing the older man working with his phone in his hand, on the lookout for texts. _That’s great. Is there any food you don’t eat?_

 _Cheese_ , Altair replied, glancing at himself in the mirror. Yep, the night’s work had not improved his appearances. For last night’s number he had had to put on a great deal of kohl, which was obviously running, smudged all over Altair’s face. He glanced at the pillow and grimaced at the dark traces he’d left behind. His skin was still covered in glitter, too. Despite it being organic, he knew it’d take half his life time to wash off, and since it was still glitter, it itched. _Oh, and no alcohol._

_That’s too bad. How am I supposed to get you drunk and lure you into my bed? ;^)_

Altair decided on a much-needed shower, and laughed at Ezio’s unironic use of noses in his smileys. What an old man, he thought with almost savage affection. _If you have to rely on alcohol then you don’t deserve me in your bed._

He didn’t mind if Ezio read that like a challenge or an encouragement. In fact, he would be offended if Ezio hadn’t.

°

Ezio smelled vaguely like food when he came to pick Altair up. And no, it wasn’t just Altair’s empty stomach speaking. The scent really was there: smoke clinging to his hair, garlic and basil layering over the lingering base note of his cologne. When he leaned over, Altair quickly put a finger to Ezio’s lips.

“What?” Ezio pouted. “Not even a kiss to say hello?”

“You’ll get your kiss when I’ve tasted the food,” Altair grinned. “But really? Cooking is how you’d prefer to spend a free afternoon? You don’t have too many of those.”

“I like it. It clears the mind,” Ezio shrugged easily, hand moving with the gear shift as he drove. To Altair, who didn’t drive, the practiced movements of his wrist and fingers were like magic. “And if you’d enjoy it, all the better.” He glanced over briefly, and smiled. “Has Malik’s sunny disposition improved even more? You look very chipper.”

“Speak for yourself. You look like the cat that’s got the cream,” Altair replied. 

The rest of the drive was spent in cheerful conversation, and Altair realized that he could now talk about his life with Ezio. Not just about the work or the nerdy stuffs, but also small details of his life that he was always afraid people would interpret into something more. For instance, how his fridge was empty and he couldn’t be bothered to groceries shop because it would be too hard to decide to spend his last dollars on potato or pasta, or how he was late on rent and the landlord was pestering him. How Kadar was settling in and basically not eating because he’d sunk his savings on the security deposit, or how Malik’s arm had been bothering him with this weather… People might be horrified and overreact to these signs of poverty, not understanding that it was just everyday life for Altair. Somehow, he felt that he could share these things now, without worrying about pity from Ezio’s part. He knew Ezio missed nothing and would help in any way he could (for example, seducing sellers of slightly used furniture to obtain them at premium prices), but Ezio would never make grand gestures like throwing money at him and make him uncomfortable.

Too wrapped up in conversation, he hardly noticed the scenery passing by. Eventually, Altair realized they were coming into an underground parking. A security guard nodded a greeting to Ezio as the Italian held out a pass. The automatic gate lifted, and Ezio drove in, skillfully maneuvering the car into park. The elevator required the pass also; it brought them to the highest floor of the building. They crossed a long, shiny hallway with overhead lights that came on automatically as they passed. When they stopped in front of the door, Ezio punched in a code on the panel set in the wall, before opening it. 

If those security details were not enough to clue Altair in on how fancy the tenement was, the interior of the apartment was a sure sign. The floor was all warm varnished wood, so shiny Altair could see his reflection. He promptly left his shoes, afraid he’d scuff it, because hell, if he did, a lifetime of servitude might not be enough to fix it. The wall was all somber carpet, decorated with a few paintings here and there – the modern stuff, picked only because they fit the furniture, and sure as hell not by Ezio. The décor was Spartan with very little furniture, but they were enough to hold the attention with how sleek and stylish they looked. 

A fully equipped kitchen hugged the wall, separated from the living space by an island that held the aftermath of Ezio’s cooking and the beginning of a meal. The half-prepared food was the only sign of life in this apartment. Otherwise, the coffee table was empty, free of even some worthless magazines for idle fingers; not a cushion on the couch was out of place, even the remote control of the TV was still tucked neatly on its holder on the wall. 

Altair let the warm light and the sumptuous feel of the place soak into him so he didn’t dwell on how depressingly impersonal it was. The floor-to-ceiling glass panels gave a perfect view of the city – nothing fancy like the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, mind you. But to Altair, New York at night was impressive enough by itself with all its lights, that seeing it from any high view point at all was a treat for the eyes. 

He spotted the dinner table, already laid out with a service. Not waiting for an invitation, he made a beeline over and sat himself down. Ezio followed after him with a quirked eyebrow and an amused smile. “Of course you don’t need any invitation,” he commented, opening the fridge to pull out a glass pitcher of water. He carefully filled Altair’s glass, and then his. “No alcohol,” he said, and Altair gave him an approving grin. 

“Good, you’re learning.” 

Ezio was quick with the starter. He dished out a salad of cherry tomatoes, fresh chopped basil, and a curious looking grain that Altair learned was quinoa. It tasted funny in his mouth, and he took a moment getting used to the texture. “Is this the health food stuff that’s been in vogue lately?” he asked. “It’s… surprisingly un-disgusting.” 

“I find it interesting to work with,” Ezio admitted, “though of course the real challenge is to cook without cheese at all. After all, I am still Italian.” He pointed his fork at Altair. “You are a hard man to please.”

“You get extra points for effort,” Altair allowed, waving a hand benevolently, “but minus points for whining about me. How can you blame me for anything.” Ezio snorted at that, which made Altair’s grin widen. “Be careful, the odds are stacking up against you.”

“Then I’ll try harder to seduce you,” Ezio said. Altair felt his foot pressed against his ankle, and couldn’t help but grin foolishly at this display of affection. It was so… juvenile, and at the same time, so novel. “You’ll find that I have a very nice bed.”

When the salad was finished, Ezio cleared the plates away and, almost as an afterthought, placed a candle in the middle of the table and lit it. Then he lifted a couple of thick steaks from the fridge, carrying them over to the counter, where he put them down to heat the grill. Curious, Altair wandered over to watch him work. Ezio tested the heat of the grill before lowering the steaks onto them, hands moving deftly with the tongs as they charred with faint wisps of smoke. 

“Who taught you to cook like that?” Altair wanted to know. He himself wasn’t helpless in the production of food, but only simple things that were quick to throw together, good for a few meals, and that filled the stomach. He had about a dozen stew and casseroles recipes memorized, the decent kind as well as the end-of-the-month kind that he could put together with a couple cans. Nothing requiring so much effort as what Ezio was making, and he told the other so. 

As Ezio was focused on the task at hand and preferred to respond with cursory hums, encouraging Altair to speak rather than answering himself, Altair huffed and shuffled over. He made sure he wasn’t hindering Ezio’s movements as he latched onto his side with an arm around his waist. Ezio was momentarily put off by the contact, but all he did was press a kiss to the top of Altair’s head. Altair both loved and hated that he was tall enough to do this.

“My father maintains that cooking is a useful skill to have.” Lowering the heat, Ezio finally could take some attention off of the steaks, idly turning and poking at them with the tongs. “As a teenager, I thought I had better things to do. But later in life, more often than not I find myself grateful for his instructions.” He moved a little, left arm sweeping to push Altair behind him when the grease started to splatter. It wasn’t as if Altair didn’t have the sense or the foresight to avoid it, what with his year long experience flipping burgers at McDonald’s, but he still appreciated the thought. It wasn’t everyday he had someone worry about such small aspects of his comfort. “Every other week or so we’d have a family gathering, and father still cooks. If not every course, then maybe at least the main dish. If he’s feeling very out of sorts, then maybe just the starter. That doesn’t happen often, though.” 

While the steaks were resting – and this was a novel notion to Altair, it made him snort – Ezio went to plate the glazed vegetables that he’d prepared and was keeping warm in the oven. He did it with such efficiency that Altair blurted out, “Where’s your apron? I feel like you should be wearing an apron.” 

“I don’t have one here,” Ezio laughed. “Next time, I’ll wear one for you if you wish.”

It pleased Altair that there would be a next time, and he smirked to let Ezio know. “Don’t forget. It gives bonus point.” 

The steaks were sliced, displaying the perfectly pink interior. Ezio placed a lemon wedge on Altair’s plate before pushing it over to him. Skeptically, Altair mimicked Ezio and squeezed the lemon over half of his portion of meat. When he put the first slice in his mouth, he could tell that this was how the dish was supposed to be eaten, Ezio was perfectly right, how could he ever have doubted it. He let out an appreciative hum, not hiding his pleasure as he chewed and savored the food. He may be even playing it up a little, for the delight in Ezio’s eyes. 

“Aha, I think you may yet be swayed by my charms,” Ezio declared grandly, cutting up his own steak and chewing thoughtfully. “It’s quite good if I may say so myself. Well worth the price—“

“Stop, don’t tell me how much it cost,” Altair interrupted. “I don’t want to know if it was Kobe beef or something. Then I’ll have to scold you for wasting so much money on food, and ruin everything.”

“Understood,” Ezio mimicked zipping his lips. He hesitated a little, and then asked, in the usual sheepish manners when he was testing unknown waters. “But you’re still comfortable with this meal, knowing it’s all very costly compared to your standards?”

There was no condescension in his tone, just plain curiosity. Altair knew Ezio was asking to avoid future offense. He glanced at his vegetables, speared a small potato with his fork, and ate it. “Yeah, it’s just how you eat, right?” He shrugged. “You eat shitty take-out food when you’re over at my place. I’m not the one making any sacrifice.”

“I see.” The corners of Ezio’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. Altair filed away a comment about crow’s feet, to be made at another time. Ezio was so _touchy_ about the topic of his age. “I wouldn’t call your selection of take-out food shitty, though. I thought the curry was pretty good.”

“That’s only because I haven’t made you try the Chinese yet,” Altair warned. “God, it’s so fat you’ll feel the grease come out of your pores. I’m pretty sure deep-fried food should be treated like drugs.” 

“I don’t see why I should complain, then.” 

It took the two of them, both very healthy men with strong appetites, a while to polish off the food. Sure, there was a lot of talking, but there was also a lot of food. This morning when he’d woken up, Altair hadn’t thought he’d be eating so well. When Ezio got up to clear away the table, he was content to slouch back on his chair, patting his stomach with a hand. “I’m stuffed. If you’d put one single extra potato on that plate, I would’ve burst.”

“You weren’t obliged to finish everything, you know,” Ezio snorted. “Well well, since you’re so full, maybe we’ll have to forego dessert?”

Altair immediately sat up a little straighter. “There’s dessert?” He hummed, making a show of rubbing his stomach and licking his lips. “I have an entire second stomach for dessert.”

Ezio rolled his eyes, “Of course you do. At this point I’m surprised you haven’t developed those cheek bags that squirrels have to hold food.” He poked at Altair’s cheek when he walked past. “Have you?”

“I might have,” Altair retaliated by swatting at Ezio’s butt before he was again out of arm’s reach. That nearly sent Ezio stumbling into the fridge, and the Italian was laughing in fits even as he was scooping ice cream into little dainty cone-shaped glasses. “What’s so funny? My attention to your butt is amusing to you now?”

“No, just… unexpected. I just… I haven’t encountered that kind of attention since… wow. A long time, now.” Ezio placed the ice cream in front of Altair, handing him a spoon also. “Enjoy. There’s more if you still have room in that second stomach of yours.”

By the time he’d finished the gelato, Altair was so full he could hardly breathe. Ezio had finished before him and was kind of squirming in his seat, excited. Altair supposed that his ‘attention’ had encouraged the Italian a little more. 

“So? What’s the verdict?”

“Huh?” Altair was caught off guard for a moment before he realized what Ezio meant. “Oh, the food? It was pretty good. No, scratch that. It was very good. Everything was awesome.”

“What a relief,” Ezio grinned, leaning over the table. “Do I get a kiss now?”

Altair laughed. He reached over to grab Ezio’s chin, taking a moment to run his thumb over the other man’s stubble. “Hm, I don’t know,” he pretended to ponder, laughing when Ezio pouted. “Okay, okay. You definitely deserve a kiss.”

He leaned forwards to their lips touch. Ezio let out a content sigh and tilted his head to avoid bumping noses, his eyes fluttering shut. Smiling a little, Altair slid his hand from the other’s chin to cup his jaw, licking into Ezio’s open mouth, but only barely. He pulled back, earning a soft protesting noise from Ezio, which he answered with a soothing hum. He gestured to the awkward way Ezio was leaning over the table. “Maybe we could move to somewhere more comfortable?”

Relieved, Ezio nodded and got up, rounding the table. “You took the word right out of my mouth, _amico._ ”

“I literally did,” Altair replied, slyly, grinning when Ezio’s hand slipped into his. To his surprise, the Italian actually lifted Altair’s hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it, before tugging him towards what Altair assumed was the bedroom. “Oh my, I didn’t expect that, how gentlemanly. After all, you only did this to get me in your bed,” he teased.

Ezio chuckled in return, his cheeks already flushed with eagerness. “That it might be,” he returned, eyes sparkling and grinning that _grin_ that made Altair’s blood suddenly run very, very hot,“but I wouldn’t have it said that I don’t have any bedside manners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was easy to write, but also hard, because I've gone a couple days without writing. Busy with work and all.   
> No sugar from my readers? :(


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to Eclos, without whose comment I would never have tried to include something explicit.  
> It's going to get saucy, people. Only a bit though, cause I am a wimp.

It was still a surprise for Ezio to wake up in the morning in his own apartment and find Altair next to him. He’d spent many nights over at Altair’s place, but it’d been only a couple times since Altair had been over, and this was the first time that he’d stayed. 

It wasn’t as if Ezio didn’t welcome Altair in his home. To Ezio, this condo felt about as much like home as the Ritz. It was pleasant and comfortable, but there wasn’t much of _him_ to show, except from the dinners that he could whip up from scratch and impress Altair a bit. Moreover, the opportunity had merely not presented itself. Since Altair didn’t have a vehicle of his own, Ezio usually drove him home after an evening together, so they both could get to work in a respectable state the next morning. This time though, Ezio had picked up Altair after the Saturday night shift at the club, so they could spend the night and the leisure Sunday morning together. 

Ezio was used to waking early. On the weekends, even without alarms, he still stirred when the sun barely pierced the leaden winter sky. It was his habit not to linger in bed, but he indulged himself since Altair was here. 

He’d learned very quickly that Altair was a cuddle monster. Despite all the distance that Altair liked to put between them during his waking hours, as soon as they settled in bed, he would cling to Ezio like he would freeze to death without the body heat, or like he was afraid Ezio would steal away in the middle of the night. The formidable thing was that he wouldn’t let go, not even once, all night. It made for a few very awkward awakenings where Ezio was in a hurry for work and could not untangle himself from Altair’s octopus grip. Either that, or he’d end up in a pile on the floor because of a leg that had fallen asleep, or unable to pull on his clothes because of an arm turned temporarily inanimate for the same reason.

Today though, he was not in a hurry. Not wanting to wake Altair from his much-needed sleep, Ezio contented with freeing only an arm so he could caress the other’s golden skin. Even now he was still somewhat baffled when he got to see so much of it, and all at once. He could spend hours watching the light play over Altair’s smooth skin, or the way his muscles stir in the minute movements of his sleep. Carding his fingers through the man’s short hair, Ezio felt the coarse strands rub against his palm, and smiled as Altair let out a sleepy mumble. He ceased his touches, light as they were, afraid he’d wake Altair before he had slept his fill.

Altair had insisted on coming over today. He’d said he had a big announcement to make, and Ezio wondered what it could be. Could it have something to do with the way Altair so often seemed to be busy, lately? Ezio had not seen him more than twice in the last three weeks. He quickly stomped down a spike of panic – Altair was not breaking up with him, was he? Surely if it was over between them, Altair wouldn’t have been as enthusiastic as he had been last night in bed. And if he couldn’t bear to be together with Ezio, then there was no way he would be clinging to him so tightly while he slept, was there? 

Altair’s brows furrowed that moment in his sleep, and Ezio recalled how Altair often scolded him for ‘thinking too loud’. He had no idea how that worked, but he could tell it worked for Altair. Gently, Ezio peeled Altair’s clinging arms and legs off of him, easing a pillow into his clutch instead. He covered the other up with the blanket before leaving the bed, pulling on a loose t-shirt and old, used jeans before tying his hair back and padding over to the kitchen. 

Pancakes, he decided. Making pancakes would take his mind off of this pointless panic over nothing. 

By the time Altair woke up – around ten or so – Ezio had not only made pancakes, which he kept warm in the oven, but also a dozen muffins, and had also finished the consolidated reporting statements that he was to send to the auditors Monday morning. Altair padded over in his boxers and t-shirt, sleepily following the scent of baked goods. “Goodness, are you planning to open a bakery?”

Ezio shut his laptop and got up, not wanting to give any signs of his childish fears. “No, just wanted to give you something to take home later.” He started to move towards the other, but did not have to walk far, because Altair had wandered over and basically fell against his chest. He let out a groan when Ezio caressed the short, soft hair at the back of his head, making Ezio chuckle. “Pancakes?” Ezio offered, and Altair groaned again.

“Yes, please.”

“Come on, then.” He led Altair by the hand to the dining table and sat him down like a child. The pancakes were retrieved and placed in front of Altair, syrup passed over, and Ezio pressed a fork into his hand. “There you go.”

Altair looked at him, bleary-eyed, but there was already a curl of mischief to his lips. “Cut them up?”

Ezio rolled his eyes as he tugged Altair’s plate over and cut the pancakes up into neat squares for him. The younger man let out an appreciative hum before planting his fork into the biggest stacks, attacking the pancakes with gusto. He spoke only when he’d finished half the plate and his hunger had been sated. “Were you working? On a Sunday morning?”

“Just something I’ve been meaning to wrap up,” Ezio replied, sipping on his coffee. “I haven’t been up for so long.” He eyed the pillow mark on Altair’s cheek, “You were out like a light. Rough night?”

“Not even… The crowd was nice, they were so shy. Just some kid celebrating his coming out of the closet.” He flashed Ezio a grin. “I made sure it was very memorable.”

Ezio wasn’t sure if Altair was trying to make him jealous or not. “It’s a good thing to take pride in your work,” he managed, and Altair burst out in laughter, his voice still rough from sleep. 

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not gonna explode at you – well, not again – if you said something wrong. I know it’s pretty weird to have a stripper for a boyfriend.”

“It’s not that weird,” Ezio shrugged, trying to hide the relief that Altair didn’t seem to have any intention to put an end to his ‘boyfriend’ status. “Plenty of people have strippers for significant others.”

Altair snorted, lifting a foot to rest it in Ezio’s lap. “Yeah. But I bet none of these people is like you.”

Once the pancakes were finished, Altair stole a muffin, making short work of it as Ezio washed up. Just as Ezio was wiping down the counter, he came over to hug Ezio from behind, arms wrapping around his waist. Ezio didn’t think much of his motives – after all, Altair did this often enough, clinging close to Ezio just because he could. He still didn’t suspect any shift in the mood when Altair slipped his hands under his t-shirt. However, when one of Altair’s hands snuck under the waistband of his jeans, Ezio was sure to take notice. 

“Take me back to bed,” Altair murmured against his skin, pushing the t-shirt up and urging Ezio to pull it the rest of the way over his head. Ezio was suddenly grateful the jeans were loose, because he was certainly rising to attention to Altair’s deft fingers. “I haven’t finished celebrating yet.”

“Celebrating?” Ezio echoed, trying to crane his neck to look at him over his shoulder. “Do I get to know what you’re celebrating?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Altair looked up with a wicked, wicked grin, licking his lips. “I think we have more pressing matters at hand, don’t you?”

Ezio couldn’t even begin to contradict that. Huffing, he lowered himself slightly so he could secure Altair legs behind the knees. Letting out a startled but delighted laughter, Altair withdrew his hands to lock both his arms around Ezio’s neck, righting himself as Ezio picked him up in a piggy-back carry. He took advantage of this newfound height to assault Ezio’s neck, kissing and nipping at his shoulder. His display of attention only slowed Ezio down slightly as he carried Altair to the bedroom. 

Bracing a knee on the bed, he was about to lower Altair down gently, but the latter obviously had other ideas. He rocked forward hard so both of them tumbled down face-first into the mattress, letting out a bark of laughter as Ezio cursed and wriggled to right himself. He let Ezio turn around to lie on his back, before planting a knee on either side of Ezio’s hips, firmly straddling him. 

Ezio’s mouth was dry as Altair pulled his own shirt over his head, and slowly, painstakingly, squirmed out of his boxers, without pulling himself very far from Ezio. He was soon gloriously bare, the glow of his body inviting. But when Ezio reached his hands up to try and touch him, Altair stopped him. “We’ll do things my way,” he whispered, leaning forward to brush his lips barely over Ezio’s forehead. 

Any smart reply seemed unnecessary as Altair laced their fingers together, pressing Ezio’s hands down firmly against the bed. Ezio didn’t even need to think, just let his body go lax, yielding to the other’s control. It seemed to please Altair, and he rewarded Ezio with a smooth movement of his hips, rubbing himself against Ezio through his jeans. The friction made Ezio buck his hips up, groaning as he tried to calm the thumping of his hearts. Altair leaned forward to swallow every sound he made, covering Ezio’s body with his own, never ceasing the undulating motions of his body, as if he was trying to rub every inch of his bare skin against Ezio’s. Still trapped under him, Ezio could only express his appreciation by kissing him back hard, invading his soft mouth and tasting buttery sweetness, lifting his head in pursuit when Altair ducked and tilted his head this way and that teasingly.

When Altair pulled back for real, Ezio was pleased to see him as flushed as Ezio felt, his lips swollen and red, glistening with saliva. “Celebrate on,” Ezio prompted, still curious about what could amplify Altair’s already healthy appetite so much. “I’m at your disposal.”

Altair huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Your dick is at my disposal, more like,” he teased, pulling away to fetch condom and lube from the bedside table. He pulled down Ezio’s jeans just enough to make the preparations, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste. Ezio wanted to take advantage of his distraction to run his hands over Altair’s body, but the other didn’t leave him alone for long. As soon as they were prepped and lined up, he snatched Ezio’s hands again, lacing his fingers with Ezio’s as he pushed down in a smooth movements. Ezio was slightly alarmed how fast he went, but no trace of discomfort could be seen on Altair’s face. After all, he didn’t stint on the lube, and he was still loose after the two of them went at it last night. As he pushed down even further, Ezio couldn’t keep his hips from bucking up and driving the rest of the way in. From the way Altair arched his back and tossed his head back in a moan, Ezio could tell his first thrust had found the other’s tender spot.

They went on like that, Altair clinging into Ezio’s hands, until their movements were so harsh their hands alone couldn’t keep them balanced anymore. Altair let go in haste as he started to pitch forward, bracing his hands against Ezio’s chest. Free to move, Ezio rested his hands on Altair’s hips, gripping tightly as the younger man continued to rock himself down onto him, letting out a moan with each movement. 

“You’re loud,” Ezio commented, gasping. It took a lot of effort to ease his grip before it could bruise, and he opted for rubbing his hands over Altair’s sides and back instead. Judging from the way Altair arched back greedily into the touches, he didn’t mind.

Altair gave him a grin between thrusts, his cheeks gloriously flushed and his eyes bright. “I can be even louder,” he gritted out, reaching a hand to one of Ezio’s nipple and tweaked hard, laughing when that made Ezio yelped. He shrunk back though, as if startled, when Ezio grinned at him. 

Since Altair had voiced the challenge, Ezio didn’t have any qualms about making him scream.

°

When Ezio had first seen the bathroom of his apartment, he had wondered what kind of deranged architect had thought such luxury was necessary. But now, he was kind of glad for the immense claw-footed bathtub, which held both Altair and him without much effort. Soaked in warm water up to his neck, Altair was relaxed and compliant, and Ezio could run his hands over the other’s soft skin as he pleased. Altair seemed content just to lean against Ezio’s chest, almost dozing in the comfort. But Ezio could tell, from the way his fingers flexed idly at the side of the tub and on Ezio’s knee, that he was awake, and he had something to say. 

He was just waiting Ezio to ask first, and Ezio was more than happy to comply. “So, what were we celebrating again?”

Altair wiggled, tucking himself a little closer against Ezio’s chest. Ezio couldn’t be sure, but if Altair was ever nervous, he was now. “Well,” Altair started, “you know I never finished high school? Dropped out a while before the end of my senior year?”

Ezio nodded. Altair had told him bits and pieces of his life before, revealing enough puzzle pieces for Ezio to know that, when Altair had reached his senior year, his father had already passed for a decade, and his mother had finally succumbed to renal tuberculosis. Refusing to go to a foster family, sixteen-years-old Altair had dropped out of high school to support himself. 

Just the thought of a teenaged Altair, at the same time so proud and so desperate, battling for survival, was enough to make Ezio’s touch even softer. He even held his breath, as if breathing too loud might disturb the other from telling him the rest of his story. It was ridiculous, really – as if something as trivial could disturb Altair – but Ezio couldn’t really stop himself from fretting. 

“I never thought much about it,” Altair continued, “but last time you mentioned courses for people in special circumstances…” Ezio remembered this incident. Altair had brushed it off quickly enough that Ezio hadn’t thought to bring it up again. It was probably the ‘special circumstances’ part that rubbed the other wrong. “Well, I looked into it, and there’s this course that seemed reasonable enough. Malik helped me work out how to manage my hours at the Codex, and I’ve been going to class…” The look of concentration on Altair’s face seemed to forbid interruption, even as Ezio’s brows climbed more and more up his forehead. How had he not noticed any of this? “I took the exams last week, and, well…” Here he broke out into a small self-satisfied grin. “As of yesterday, I have a high school diploma. It’s not much, but it’s… great.”

So this was why Altair had been so busy. Ezio felt almost ashamed of himself, for being so selfish that the first thing he suspected was that Altair was leaving him. “It is great,” he heard himself say, as a grin threatened to split his face. “I know it was a lot of work, with everything you’re doing already… But I know it’ll be worth it.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Altair’s neck. “Well done. Congratulations.”

“That’s not all,” Altair laughed, squirming a little as Ezio started to nose further. He batted at Ezio’s knee, commanding his attention again. “I’ve been looking at colleges. You’re good at judging investments, maybe you can help me pick one. And all the formalities… you’re used to it. I know you don’t have much time, but—“

“I’ll help,” Ezio cut in before Altair could hedge more. “Hell, if my education is good for something, then it’s good for helping you.” He raised a hand to cup the other’s face, where Altair had turned back to look at him. “I’ll be happy to help.”

Altair looked relieved. Did he really consider the possibility of Ezio saying no? Ezio could almost feel offended. “Good,” he said finally, turning back around and pulling Ezio’s arms around him. “In the meanwhile, I hope you’re open for more celebrations.”

That got a laugh out of Ezio and making him forget all about being offended. “Honey,” he murmured, burying his face in Altair’s slightly damp hair. “You know I’m open to suggestions


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter fresh from the oven (before I can't stand one more day without any hits/comments/kudos. I am an embarrassment and needs attention to live)  
> also i really hope to finish this fic before my arno/jacob obsession takes over. psst I have a filler chapter before the last so if there's anything you want to see happen now is the time to tell me

Connor didn’t like to make it common knowledge, but the fact remained that he had quite a turbulent life. It’d started from the very beginning, with the father who’d disappeared before he was born. Then there was the fire, from which his mother and him had escaped only narrowly. The incident had spurred Kaniehtí:io to become an Indigenous rights activist. Growing up, Connor had had a lot of troubles conciliating his identities as a Native American and a New Yorker. School went about as well as you could expect with him being as different as he was, quiet and calm and mature before his age. But for some reasons, most of the kids thought he was ‘cool’. Of course, his size and strength helped, and even his newfound sexual orientation wasn’t enough to make him a victim.

College was about as exciting as it could get, and then there was his job. Working at a strip club, Connor saw way more excitement than he could care to have shoved at him. The sense of normalcy that Malik brought to him was more than welcomed.

After a night of having to intervene against one too many crass comment and wandering hand, Connor felt glad enough for Malik’s quiet presence that he’d given voice to that thought. Malik laughed at his confession, but not in a condescending way, not even amused, just… baffled. Connor sensed enough self-deprecation there that he had to put his arms around Malik and hugged him close. 

Malik huffed, but he let Connor fold him into the curve of his torso, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. “If you’re looking for boring, then you’ve come to the right place,” he said, not flinching away when Connor pressed their upper arms together, as if measuring lengths, and reached out his own arm. Connor liked to pretend his own arm was an extension of Malik’s missing limb. He hoped that this silly gesture made Malik feel like he was spreading his wings, too. 

“You’re not boring,” he shrugged, ducking his head into Malik’s arm reach. Huffing, the older man reached up to rub the back of Connor’s head, where the hair was short and bristly. “I mean it. You’re steady, stable, dependable.”

“So, like, a ship,” Malik said without missing a beat, and Connor let out a groan. At least Malik got a laugh out of that, even if it was at the expense of Connor’s weird obsession. Malik’s tone was softer when he spoke again, “Connor, I have no idea why you have to look for these things in people. You’re all of that already, and more.”

Connor would’ve protested if his phone hadn’t chosen that moment to ring. He had few enough phone calls that when they did happen, they were usually important and he had to check. Seeing Altair’s name on display, he showed the phone to Malik, who only scoffed and leaned back to make himself comfortable against Connor with a careless ‘go ahead’ gesture. 

Connor smiled sheepishly as he put the phone to his ear. Altair gossiped like a little girl, but Connor was guilty of being the receptacle of his information with too much enthusiasm. “Hey, Altair,” he greeted. “Did you get home alright?”

Altair spewed out a jumble of words that, if they were ever intelligible le in the first place, had been rendered completely senseless by the passage over the phone line. Connor frowned, “Sorry?” he asked, and when he received only more babbling, he slowed his own words so they could be heard more clearly. “Altair, I can’t understand you. You’re hyperventilating.” Malik propped himself up at the sound of trouble, but Connor put a hand on his chest, stilling him. “Take deep breaths. Good. Now tell me what happened.”

He heard Altair take in another deep breath before finally letting out, “Ezio’s dying!”

Immediately following that statement, Connor heard a garbled moan that sounded most definitively Italian, and protesting. Whatever happened to Ezio, he obviously was well enough to object to being dead. So whatever the problem was, it wasn’t as dire as Altair had made it to be. “That’s nonsense,” he said calmly. “Tell me what really happened. From the beginning.”

°

Despite all his complaints (and a very nasty remarks or two that he didn’t really mean), Altair didn’t think Ezio’s commitment to his work was a bad thing. The man was responsible for a corporation that hired hundreds of people in the US alone and maybe thousands across the globe; Altair was proud of what he could accomplish. But it didn’t mean that he had to like it.

First of all, in case you haven’t noticed already, Altair was a needy little fuck. He saw Ezio little enough as it was, so it was out of the question that Ezio spent their time together doing anything that kept his attention away from Altair. Up until now, Ezio had upheld his end of the bargain. Which proved that he wasn’t a workaholic, not really, he could total set his work aside to enjoy life. He was just really busy.

Which brought up the second point. Altair disliked Ezio’s prestigious corporate position, because it was so stressful. Having so many people depend on him couldn’t be easy. Plus, Ezio always had people harassing him, wanting things from him: shareholders demanding results, auditors asking him to justify everything he did, tax controllers just waiting for him to slip up… Sure, Ezio had help, but in the end the brunt of the blame, should anything happen, fell on him.

Altair knew Ezio’s work was more than the glamourous appearance, more than the suit and tie. He wasn’t blind or self-centered enough not to notice the little signs of distress. For instance, the way Ezio’s eyes seemed more often than not to be bloodshot. His addiction to caffeine. The way he startled awake some nights and stayed awake until morning, thinking Altair wouldn’t notice if he kept real still. Despite what he’d seen, Altair told himself that Ezio was used to this lifestyle and these little signs would be all there would be. Until now.

It was not often that Ezio drop by unannounced, since it took so much maneuvering for their schedules to coincide. Usually Ezio would call ahead, making sure Altair was free and up for company (as if he ever wasn’t), and sometimes, what takeout he wanted Ezio to get. Ezio also knew Altair worked at the club Wednesday nights and wouldn’t be home until early morning. Which was why, when Altair saw the form sitting slumped on the doorstep of his building, he didn’t have a clue who it was. He would’ve thought it was a hobo or some drunk, if not for the fact that his clothes were too nice.

Upon closer inspection under the dim porchlight, Altair recognized him. “Ezio?” He exclaimed, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, shaking him roughly. “It’s fucking freezing, what the hell are you doing here?”

Ezio groaned in protest, slowly unfolding from his position. He was burrowed into his coat, curled up protectively around the laptop satchel he brought with him everywhere. Thank god he wasn’t already robbed blind, by some miracles. Altair realized that he had been _sleeping_. The man had a bed the size of a small country and he preferred to sleep on Altair’s doorstep?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He hissed, trying to haul Ezio up, concern and confusion blending into anger. Ezio flinched like Altair had hit him, and Altair snatched his hand back. He hadn’t grabbed Ezio that hard, had he?

“Don’t speak so loud,” Ezio rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, as he pulled himself up slowly, using the wall for support. “My head really hurts…” He managed a wan smile, and Altair’s heart jumped at how pale his face was. It looked like he didn’t even have the energy to shake away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I brought you the spreadsheet we talked about… you know, for colleges… I must have forgotten what day of the week it was.” He stumbled forward a step, and Altair rushed to save his satchel from making a painful acquaintance with the pavement. “I should’ve gone home, but I didn’t feel well enough to drive…”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Altair grumbled, and Ezio answered with a glazed-over stare. He probably hadn’t even thought of it; his face was tight and every so often he winced, as if pain was washing over him in waves. “Come on,” Altair sighed, unlocking the door and steering Ezio inside with a hand at the small of his back. “Let’s get you warmed up and lying down.”

Up until this point, Altair thought he was dealing with things quite rationally, acting how an adult should behave. But then the walk upstairs made Ezio’s head hurt so badly, he basically lunged to the sink to throw up. Once he was cleaned up and rinsed out, Altair had to drag him to bed. Ezio begged Altair to keep the lights off because it hurt his eyes, and couldn’t stand even the small flashlight Altair used to move around without knocking over things. It’d been half an hour that Ezio had been lying restlessly with his tie over his eyes, dry-heaving but thankfully not throwing up again, moaning to himself and looking absolutely miserable, and Altair was _freaking out_. 

Connor and Malik were maybe the most functional adults that Altair counted among his friends, and he was glad for Connor’s calm, matter-of-fact voice as he asked questions and doled out instructions. “Did he hit his head?” Altair relayed the question, to which Ezio answered no, but Altair still ran a hand over his scalp just to be sure. “Then it’s probably a migraine attack. It’ll pass. Keep doing what you’re doing… Make sure he’s drinking water, if he’s been throwing up… Keep the lights off, keep it quiet—“

“That includes you,” Malik piped in. “You should be quiet for a chance, Altair, I recommend it.”

Altair flipped him the bird, realized he couldn’t see it, and said out loud, “Fuck you. I mean Malik, not you, Connor. Is that all? Is there anything else I can do?” His hand was twisting into his hoodie, nervous; Altair forced himself to let go. He lowered his voice a little more, “He just looks so miserable.”

Connor made a thoughtful humming noise. “Well, if it’s bad, give him some painkillers… Ibuprofen, not aspirin, aspirin is no good for migraines… A warm towel would probably do him good, too.”

Connor couldn’t give him a time frame for the attack to last, saying it could be up to 72 hours. Altair could hardly believe it. 72 hours of having a jackhammer pound against your system? Connor, however, promised to keep his phone well within reach to answer all of Altair’s questions. He hung up, most likely to get some sleep before his morning class. Altair felt wide awake. 

Silently he recounted in his head the things Connor had told him to do. Water, first, then. He went to the kitchen for a glass, finding left-over ibuprofen in the box where he kept all his meds. Letting out a subdued but still triumphant whoop, he brought everything over and coaxed Ezio to sit up, offering the pills, which Ezio snatched almost greedily.

As he sipped on the water, the Italian studied Altair’s face in the dim light. “Don’t worry too much,” he said, his voice still low as a whisper. “It’ll go away in a couple hours.”

“This has happened before?” Altair retorted. He wanted to pinch Ezio, but stopped himself. “Why didn’t you say so before I went and made a fool of myself to Connor?”

“Nothing Connor didn’t know already,” Ezio managed. Altair fumed, which only made him laugh, but he stopped immediately. “It’s not so often I get to see you fret over me. I was trying to enjoy myself a little.”

“You dumbass, your head hurt so bad you vomited. There’s nothing that should make you enjoy yourself.” Altair took the glass away. He got up to get out a towel from his cupboard, running it under hot water and wringing it dry. When he returned, Ezio was still sitting up in bed, swaying a little, and Altair slipped in behind him. 

Ezio didn’t protest when Altair unbuttoned his shirt. He just hummed, grateful and relieved, when Altair pulled the warm towel gently over his face, neck, and chest. His body relaxed slightly, so Altair kept up the movements until the towel had gone cold. He tossed it aside to drape over the back of a chair, before pulling the blanket up and over them, easing them down so Ezio was mostly lying, his torso resting against Altair’s. 

There was absolutely nothing to do, no comforting words to be spoken. Altair was content just to hold Ezio for once, listening to him breathe. As if by instinct, their breathing started to match, the sound steady in the silence of the apartment. Noises still came in from outside – Altair’s insulation was shit – but they were muffled, not loud enough for discomfort. Ezio was restless still, flinching sometimes with a particularly bad pulse of pain. But Altair kept up a soothing motion over his chest, kneading at his neck and shoulders, and by some miracle, he settled down and slept. 

Altair didn’t know how long it went on. He was too busy watching, trying to pierce the darkness of the room with his sight to make sure Ezio’s features were free of pain. From times to times, the Italian’s brows did furrow, and his jaw was still clenched too tight for comfort, but at least he was sleeping. Altair thought he must have dozed off a while himself, because the night seemed to go by so fast. When he next opened his eyes, there was sunlight, and Ezio’s phone was buzzing.

Altair grabbed furiously for the phone to try and silence it, but couldn’t locate it in the blankets and pillows and the folds of Ezio’s clothes. By the time his fingers closed around it, Ezio was already awake, blinking blearily at the room. Altair held his breath, but Ezio didn’t wince at the light coming in from the window, or at the honking horn from the traffic outside. His features were still drawn, but he was not flinching anymore, and Altair felt like he could let out that breath.

“You feel better, then?” He asked, still whispering just to be on the safe side. Ezio nodded groggily and tried to peek at the phone in Altair’s hand. Altair looked at the caller ID. “It’s Sofia. Sofia from work, right?”

“Right,” Ezio nodded. “She probably needs me for something urgent—”

“Ezio, you slept for two hours last night,” Altair said, after checking the time on the phone. “You’re not going to work today, urgent or not.” 

There was probably something in his voice, because Ezio paused. “Okay,” he said finally, turning his head a little to press a kiss to the corner of Altair’s mouth. Altair let him, content with the fact that he’d slumped back down and didn’t seem too intent on leaving bed any time soon. “I’ll ask her to drop by if anything needs signing… You don’t mind, do you?”

Altair shook his head. “Can I call her?” He asked eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to say something like, ‘I’m afraid Mr. Auditore is not available right now.’” He took on a fake posh accent, making Ezio laugh. 

“Of course. Go wild.”

Altair grinned with all of his teeth. “Careful. You don’t want to encourage me too much.”


	14. Chapter 14

Having Ezio over had sort of become a fixture to Altair’s evenings now. After the incident where the idiot had passed out at the doorstep with a migraine the strength of an 8.5 magnitude earthquake, Altair had given him a copy of his key. 

Ezio still liked to pick him up from the Codex, when he managed to get off early from his own job. Otherwise, he just let himself in, whenever he managed to free himself from the grasps of his professional responsibilities. Occasionally, when Altair had a shift at the club and Ezio didn’t feel like being in his own apartment, he’d come to work at Altair’s table, waiting for him to get home.

They both didn’t much like being in Ezio’s apartment. When the wonder of novelty passed, Altair had to admit that sure, it was fancy, but it wasn’t home. Altair thought of it mostly like a luxurious hotel room where they could occasionally go to take a break from reality, when they felt like sleeping in a bed the size of a football field or take a dip in a claw-footed bathtub in a marble bathroom. They also spent the evening there when Ezio wanted to cook, and that was always enjoyable to both Altair’s taste buds and peace of mind. 

But in spite of the small things that Altair had started to leave around – a pair of socks, a toothbrush, some earphones – and Ezio’s own possessions, the place had never quite lost its hotel room feel. It could be enjoyable when they had each other there. But the place was so large neither of them could really leave a trace, and it was not a good feeling to be a ghost in a space that could hold memories so dear.

No wonder Ezio was so sad when he was all alone in that place. No wonder he was so lonely.

Since Ezio was spending more and more time at his place, Altair had made some concession about the ‘no work after work’ rule. Of course he still required Ezio’s undivided attention whenever he was physically present. But when Altair was in the shower, or was still on the way back from work, Ezio was allowed to do some light reading (work emails) as he waited. And let’s admit it, these were the only moments Altair would leave Ezio alone when he was there.

For once, today, Ezio was only lounging in the bed with his phone when Altair got out of the shower. A pair of glasses was perched on the bridge of his nose – that was also something Altair had got used to since he allowed Ezio to work there. The man didn’t necessarily needed glasses, but the adjustment allowed his eyes to rest, some, after the long day. “What’s that on your face?” Altair teased. Ezio was so self-conscious these glasses, he never wore them when anyone, Altair included, was around. 

“Nothing,” Ezio huffed, whipping the glasses off of his face in a second, tucking them in his breast pocket. Altair dropped the towel in the hamper and climbed into bed with him, taking his favorite place against Ezio’s chest. The glasses were a bump at his back and he pulled them out, leaning back to plonk them back on Ezio’s nose, despite the latter’s squawk of protest.

“Just keep them on, I’d break them if you kept them in your pocket,” Altair ordered patiently, “And stop being such a baby. They’re just glasses and you need them.”

“I don’t really need them,” Ezio sulked. “I’m not that old.”

“I don’t know,” Altair smirked, placing a hand on either side of his face to tug him down for a kiss. “I kind of like how you look with them on.”

Ezio perked up at the compliment. “Very handsome?” 

Altair snorted. “No, like a dork.” Ezio should have known better than to fish for praises from him. Yawning, he took the phone from Ezio. “What were you looking at? From the way you were smiling I’m guessing it’s not work.”

Wrapping his arms around Altair’s waist and resting his cheek on Altair’s shoulder, Ezio let him browse through the content of his phone. What he was looking at was photos, a whole batch of them. “Claudia sent me pictures from the company trip,” he explained. “They went for a week to Sicily.”

Altair whistled, “Wish I had that kind of perks at my job.” He thumbed through the photos, wanting to put names to the many smiling faces. “Which one is the harpy sister then?”

“God, don’t ever let her know I call her that,” Ezio begged, reaching a hand up to swipe through the photos. “There she is.” Claudia was a tall, slender woman with rich brown hair that she’d wound around her head in a braid. She was stunning in a white bikini, and in the photo she posed with two middle-aged men, one with reddish brown hair and another with black hair. The gentlemen returned in the few next shots. “Fresh out of college and already getting the bosses under her thumb. That’s Gilberto and Niccolò. They’re in charge of Public relations and Market research.” Altair felt Ezio’s frown against his neck. “I didn’t know they were that friendly with my sister.”

“Uh-oh,” Altair snorted. “What about these guys? They don’t look like bankers. What do they do?” 

“Bartolomeo is in charge of security,” Ezio hummed. “Oh, that’s Leonardo, he’s a freelance artist we contracted a few times for ads and logos and the likes. I went to school with him, we were inseparable. Teodora is very much a banker though. She’s a partner.”

“Okay, maybe she’s hot enough to be a banker.” The next shot featured two older men, and the resemblance struck Altair right away. “Which one is your dad?”

“There he is,” Ezio pointed to the thinner man with the aquiline nose and a mild smile. “And the other one is my uncle Mario.”

“The one responsible for the nerdiness!” Altair laughed. “He doesn’t look like a nerd though.” 

“Don’t let his appearance fool you, he’s the biggest nerd there is.” Ezio chuckled. “There’s mother. Fussing over Federico and Petruccio the first chance she got, as always.” Distractedly, he slipped his hands under Altair’s shirt to caress his bare skin. “Obviously, they don’t all work at the bank. Only Claudia does. Petruccio is still figuring out what he wants to become… Hell, Federico is still trying to figure that out too, last time I spoke with him. But since all our friends are going, they kind of tag along.”

And it went on, smiling face after smiling face. The flood of names swept by Altair, making him almost dizzy. He suddenly realized that these people, all of them, were Ezio’s family and friends. People he loved, or at least cared about. People he’d left behind in Italy, and hadn’t seen for almost a year. Altair imagined a year without Connor, Malik, Maria, and he realized he’d never fully understood the extent of Ezio’s isolation. His sacrifice. 

He wondered if he could even begin to fill that void. If he could ever be enough.

“… Altair?” Ezio said. Altair realized he had been speaking to him. “Are you alright?”

Altair said nothing. He handed the phone back to Ezio, and pulled away from his warm arms. He needed to see the other’s eyes if he was to bring this up, he needed to know. He wanted Ezio to see him too, to know that he was truly, wholly and painfully, honest. “You’ve always said you left behind your whole life in Italy, but I guess I never really understood what that meant until I see all these people,” he gestured to the phone. 

Ezio seemed to think that Altair was upset on his behalf and was touched. That made Altair felt even more wretched; he wasn’t nearly that good. Everything that he felt now was selfishness, a paralyzing fear of losing the one good thing that happened to him. Slowly, Ezio reached out to him, fingers opened and palm up like he was approaching a wild animal, and Altair didn’t trust himself to place his hand in the other’s.

“It was never meant to be permanent, but that doesn’t make it easy,” Ezio admitted. “I had a hard time adjusting. I never expected such a stroke of luck as meeting you. Things got so much easier. You helped a lot.” 

Altair didn’t want to hear any more about how good and helpful he was, not with the question burning in his mind. “Are you going to go back to Italy?” 

He knew then, with Ezio’s stunned look, that the man wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t say it without lying to Altair. “That’s just so fucking typical,” Altair barked out a laugh, knowing very well he was being unfair, but he just couldn’t hold himself back. “What is this to you then? Just a way to pass the time before you go back?” 

“Altair, I’d never do that to you, you know that—“

“Fine, so you won’t just disappear and leave me on my ass. What else did you have in mind?” Altair couldn’t help a sneer. “Would you make love to me all night before you leave? Kiss my tears away at the airport? I’m not interested in that kind of compensation, you know.”

“Altair, don’t do this.”

Altair slapped his hand away. “Don’t do what?”

For once, there was a flash of temper on Ezio’s face. “This,” he intoned, making a forceful gesture towards Altair. “The first moment you sense even the shadow of a problem, when you think things might get difficult, you raise all your defenses. You say spiteful things you do not mean to try and push me away before you get hurt.” Altair’s face grew hot, but before he could argue, Ezio had continued, “I respect you, but I’m not taking any more of your bullshit, and I’m not intimidated by your attitude, either. I am _not_ taking advantage of you. What did you want me to say? That I will never ever go back to my home country to see my family ever again?”

“That’s… not what I asked,” Altair protested, though Ezio’s eloquence had burned out the fire in him. He’d kind of taken Ezio’s sympathy for granted, and had clearly abused it until something snapped. His anger wasn’t even justified in the first place, but he had to see this argument through. “I just—You said it yourself, you didn’t plan for any of this to happen. You’re not trying to build anything permanent here. Eventually you will go back to the life you should have. Knowing that, why waste both our time?”

“Do you feel like your time is being wasted?” Ezio asked gently. Things would be much simpler if Altair could bring himself to say yes and mean it. He enjoyed spending time with Ezio a lot. Partly because of his occupation, but really mostly being who he was, Altair had always had a hard time letting his guard down. Ezio had proven himself to him, times and times again. When he was around Ezio he felt safe and could relax in a way he hadn’t thought he could with a man he’d known for so short a time. Altair looked up and met Ezio’s gaze, wordless, and was relieved that the Italian thought that was answer enough. “I thought so. I don’t, either. I might not have set out to build anything permanent here, but that had changed. I’m glad to have met you and I’m glad to _be_ with you and I will build around that.” 

“But you’ll be glad to see your family again too,” Altair argued. His nose was starting to sting, but he refused to be weak. He jutted out his chin, making it look like a challenge. 

Ezio didn’t let himself be swayed. “That’s true too, and I’m willing to make compromises. I don’t think you need me to tell you how big a part of my life you’d become. You’re important enough for me to plan my life around you. So what if I have about five hundreds relatives in Italy? With careful planning, I could visit all of them within a month.” He paused and grimaced, “Maybe three months would be more realistic. The point is that nothing’s stopping me from spending the remaining nine months with you.”

“What if it’s not enough?” Altair sniffled. “What if you’re going back permanently? And I’m not saying you’re going back just because you want to, though that could happen, you have that right. What if something happened and you have to?” 

Ezio shrugged. “We don’t know that. So, why worry about things that might not happen?” Slowly, he approached Altair, shifting forward so their knees touched. “You’re right, I left behind my whole life in Italy. But thanks to you, I’m also making a life here that’s equally as good, as important. And life is always an adventure, is it not? Whatever happens, happens. In the meanwhile, I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure of being with you just from worrying about what the future might bring.” His smile was a little worried, hopeful. “I’d understand if you don’t feel the same,” he said it so easily, but he was gripping the bedsheets so hard his fingers were white. Altair had to give him credit that his voice was perfectly steady. “In that case I will not bother you anymore. You can forget we’d ever met. But I really hope you like me enough to take the chance with me.”

The safe answer would be no. To stop himself before he got too invested. To back away like the coward he was and find solace in less risky relationships. But Altair thought about being alone in his apartment again at night, waking up without Ezio next to him. He imagined waking up next to literally anyone else, and found he couldn’t bear it. 

“Don’t speak of me like I’m some savior,” he said finally. “Tell you the truth? I didn’t have much of a life before we met.” He swept a hand around the room. “You think this is a life? Moving boxes and stripping for a living?” He looked to the great spreadsheet of colleges and the many drafts of the letter of application, tucked away on his nightstand, waiting to be pondered over again. “I’d forgotten I could do more if it’s not for you.” That was all he could say before he got all choked up. He dipped his head and finally managed, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need.” Now it was Ezio’s voice that broke with relief. Altair scampered over to wrap himself in Ezio’s arms again. The older man literally hugged him with his whole body, arms around his back and even locking his legs around his waist. That made him laugh and Ezio smiled too, touching the tip of his ridiculously big nose against Altair’s. “Are you ready to make a leap of faith?”

Altair laughed, feeling relief flood him. “Yes. Though I gotta warn you, it’d be a miserable life we’ll build together.”

“How could I have expected anything else from you,” Ezio sniped, and Altair pinched him hard on the side. The Italian yelped and laughed, before calming down and just rested his chin on Altair’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss to Altair’s temple and sighed contently, his hands rubbing warm circles into Altair’s back. “Good enough for me, _tesoro mio_. Good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is - i decided not to ponder too hard on the filler chapter. so this fic won't have a nice round number of chapters, so what. :P I am out of ideas rn, and I'm glad to be finished with this fic so I can move on to other things.  
> that being said, if ideas come to me, I'd probably add more ficlets and make this a series. thank you for everyone who'd read this far and please, please let me know what you think! also if you have fluffy ideas i am a taker :)


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